


Awaking From a Fog

by Serpent_Of_the_Old_Gods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpent_Of_the_Old_Gods/pseuds/Serpent_Of_the_Old_Gods
Summary: Two decades have passed and it seems that nearly all of the survivors of the Seconds Wizarding War are reaching for comfort and security. What happens when two of those survivors realize that there is some risk to finding yourself and being truely happy?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 27
Kudos: 35





	1. The Passing of Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a very long time. I have had so many thoughts on the characters of Hermione and Draco for a decade and my friends are about sick to death of hearing me prattle on. So I'm putting some of those feelings in writing. This is also my first time actually posting a piece of my writing on the internet! So offer constructive criticism but be nice! I'm way open to healthy discussions.

Chapter 1

She stared in her bathroom mirror, eyes heavy with the still lingering sleep. In a comfortable townhome in East Sussex, Hermione Granger-Weasley began her day the same way she had for the last 15 years. Awake at sunrise, brush her teeth, not do much at all with her hair, just a large comb clip, a little fluffing, splash some water on her face, and head to the kitchen. Ron is usually up by this time and right on cue, Hermione hears the shower start. 

Mornings are a little different she supposed. Her children are both gone, off to Hogwarts. The excitement that brought both children was palpable for weeks preceding the start of term. Rose, the eldest girl, a lanky and tall girl with Weasley freckles and copper locks, was beginning her third year. Hugo, a small boy who favored his mother with his honey-colored eyes and gap-toothed grin, began his first. Her sweet children, Hermione could scarcely believe where the time had gone. 

While the babes were so excited about being on their own, going shopping for wands, robes, books, and supplies, Hermione and Ron held reservations about Hogwarts. Not that there was a lingering threat, it had been over 20 years since the school was a war-torn wasteland, littered with the bodies of those they knew and loved and loathed. It's the ever-present, nagging thought, that SOMETHING horrifying would befall the castle again. There wasn't a single year in her time there that hadn't produced some catastrophe.

It was long in considering letting Rose and Hugo attend her alma mater. After long talks with her husband, their best mate Harry Potter, his wife and Ron's sister Ginny, and just about everyone else they knew. Ron and Hermione agreed...Hogwarts is home. 

Ron descended the stairs and said, "Good Mornin'", in a habitual fashion. Ron had been made partner with his brother George running the joke shoppe that began as a dream come true for twins Fred and George. Oh how she missed Fred, those two were such a unit that now, even 20 years later, the sight of just the one was unnerving. Ron bustled around the kitchen with a slice of toast dangling from his mouth, hastily shoving his arms through his jacket. "What's the rush this morning dear?" Hermione asked absentmindedly. "Late for a meeting with Gringotts, see you at supper." With a peck on the cheek and soft pop, Ron disapparated. 

Hermione held her steaming cup of tea and glanced around the home. Ron wasn't thrilled when she insisted on buying this place so far removed from the Burrow. She loved the Burrow, mind you, it's just that she wanted to raise her children, SHE wanted to raise her children. The Burrow is so busy, Arthur bustling around since he retired, the clutter that only accumulated more since he spent his spare time tinkering with Muggle finds. Calculators, infant toys, an assortment of medical devices, pictures from magazines that DON'T move, records, storybooks, computers, telephones, reside like members of the family used to. 

Molly can't bear to toss anything either. Arthur had lost so much, they all had. Losing Fred, all of their children scattered. The Burrow never truly recovered from being set ablaze, they took the time to restore most of it but some places in the corners and up the rickety spiral staircase still bore scorch marks. Scars that reflected what they all suffered and lost. 

The Weasley grandparents were so wonderful, but also harboured some of the same overprotected and often, overbearing tendencies that Hermione wanted to avoid. She wanted her children to grow as she did. Blissfully unaware that life was anything but full of hope and possibilities. So off they went, to the sea.

The townhouse in Rye, East Sussex was just what she and Ron needed. They were magical anyway, able to apparate straight to the Burrow if need be. It was close to the sea and reminded Hermione of a Tudor village. It was small and quiet and allowed them to give their children a peaceful childhood. Away from the notoriety that followed her famous parents. Hermione homeschooled her babes, making a living as a therapist, using muggle techniques and studying both magical and nonmagical theories of trauma, post-traumatic stress, and helping to find ways to help people mend. She intended to be a healer but found that being in a hospital brought too much of her trauma back. Even simple accidents reminded her too much of the bloodshed she'd witnessed, and inflicted. 

Her therapist and mentor opened the door for a fulfilling career. Hermione had an office on the main level of the townhome. She didn't see a lot of patients but worked with a handful regularly. Hermione thought that she wouldn't have this job so many years later, but as the immediate traumas lifted from her clients, the lingering effects kept her in business. She didn't charge a lot and even had one or two that she didn't charge money at all, they usually brought baked goods or dinners, and chatted with Hermione around the kitchen table instead of her office. 

Shaking herself from her revere, Hermione went back to preparing for the day. She had a weekly lunch date with Harry and Ginny in London. Twenty-one years and they had never missed a lunch, save for the 5 times that childbirth had given them cause for a different type of meeting. Ron attends when he can, but less and less in the recent decade. Years of helping people cope and she never was able to help her husband. He was stubborn and at times daft. His trauma turned inward, and quite by surprise, he became a workaholic. Endless hours at the shoppe, or with his brothers, or his parents kept him away more often than at home. Despite this, he is a devoted and loving father, full of silliness and play, and endless stories from his childhood storybooks. He was Arthur Weasley all over again.

Donning a simple sweater dress, with tights and ankle boots, and topping the look off with a burgundy cardigan, Hermione was just about to disapparate, when scratching at the kitchen window grabbed her attention. A barn owl sat perched on the sill, with a scroll tied to his leg. Well, she supposed she had time to grab that before she went. 

Plucking an owl treat from the canister on the counter she fed the bird and while it was occupied with the snack, untied and unfurled the scroll.

"Dr. Hermione Granger-Weasley, I'm writing to you to request that you see a few of my more pressing patients for the next couple of months. There has been an emergency with some family members back home Delhi that I have to see to. I could think of no one who's practice I would trust in the hands of anyone else. I think you'll find the experience as rewarding as the patients will.  
Awaiting your prompt reply,  
Dr. Chandra Singh  
P.S. Congrats on Hugo and Rose's start of term, I'm positive they are as studious as their mother!"

Well, if DR. Singh needs a hand, a hand he shall receive. Merlin knows Chandra had fostered her career as well as given her the tools to mend her brokenness. Anything this man asked, Hermione would give.

Turning the parchment over and grabbing a stubby quill and ink bottle from a nearby drawer, she hastily scribbled,

"Anything you need, I shall provide. Send me appointment dates/times and I'll do whatever I can.  
Warm regards,  
Hermione  
P.S. Hugo used your block breathing techniques to help him settle his nerves for the train ride to Hogwarts. I owe you for that one alone!"  
Hermione tied the parchment to the owl and checked her watch, with a sigh and a soft pop, she was off to London. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
A splash of cold water to the face, followed by the piercing silence of a medieval manor house, this is the way Draco Malfoy started each repetitive day. The house was empty, though he suspected by the light beginning to peek its way through the drapes, that the housekeeper, Esta, would arrive shortly. She was a portly woman with deep frown lines. She worked rigorously and quietly, which is probably the only reason Draco kept her around. He paid her handsomely. Caring for this monstrosity was an undertaking. He paid her more for her silence though, the idea of mindless chatter and intruding in his space would have driven him to murder. 

The years had not been kind to Draco Malfoy. Physically, he was in pretty good form, the product of little appetite had left him lean, the work from his one obsession had created a strong build, but not bulky. The striking thing about Draco was his smooth face, not a wrinkle or a crease, save for a faint furrow between his brow. That's what being so numb for so long will do to a young person. No laugh lines, no folds around the mouth from a deep frown were evident on the man's face. It was hardly believable that he was nearing 40 years old. Not that it mattered anyway, he was rarely seen by anyone but his son. That was really over the holiday or during summer anymore. Scorpius was in his first year at Hogwarts.

Scorpius was a good boy, quiet and contemplative. He used to be a jovial child, red-cheeked, and giggly. Then his mother died, and something in the child died too. Draco didn't help much. Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy's passing was the final blow to a broken man. Not that he was in love with her, but in his arranged marriage he did find a bit of normalcy that he didn't think he'd ever get, or deserved. He didn't believe she loved him either, but they lived in mutual respect and fondness. A business-like relationship in which both partners carried equal weight. When she fell ill, Draco felt as if he did this to her, that just by being in proximity left her cursed. This feeling of responsibility is probably the only reason Draco let his son attend the wizarding school. He was quite tempted to teach his son magic from home. Draco felt though, at the end of the day that Scorpius needed to be far away from the cursed manor. Let his father be sealed away here, where he could do no more harm to the wizarding world. 

Draco's upbringing was one of grooming and strict rules. The Malfoys had a reputation that must be upheld, to say nothing of his mother's family, the House of Black. The constant pressure to maintain a pointless image of prestige and power. So many of Draco's daily habits still stem from that grooming. He kept his appearance immaculate. New clothes and expensive watches. Though he didn't particularly care anymore, it was just a force of habit. 

Today Draco had business to attend to in London, so he dressed in his usual fashion, charcoal turtleneck and sportcoat to fend off the October chill, expertly pressed slacks (thanks to Esta who preferred to tend to clothes the muggle way, with a hot iron and scolding), silver watch and shined shoes. He supposed this will do, keep people from asking about his state of mind.

His footsteps reverberate off of the stone walls as Draco headed for his study, invoices needed to be penned and owled before he departed. The one thing he could do that gave him any sense of repentance for his youthful transgressions, was financial charity. Generational wealth was nothing to balk at and his various investments had returned dividends over the decades. Not to mention the years of unloading the plethora of dark artifacts that his father, and his father's father, had amassed over the centuries, all turned a pretty penny. He had to get rid of them slowly to avoid drawing attention and finding the right, discrete, buyers took time. 

Draco gave money to victims of the war he was a part of. Anonymously, of course. Hogwarts received the majority of his donations. That school needed to be able to hire competent professors, not random employees of the ministry, also it needed to rely less on the ministry for funding, Draco hoped that by keeping the institute more privately backed, that if something happened politically, the Ministry would have no bearing on the running of the school. A modest sum went to St. Mungo's hospital, for the blow that it took after the war. The hospital was flooded and drained of resources, able to help and heal people once Malfoy galleons restocked it's potion stores and helped to hire healers from all over the world. 

Draco sat at his mahogany and heartwood desk, lifting his eagle feather quill from its stand and neatly penned each invoice to Gringotts, the goblins there knew the routine and would make sure the gold moved around to the appropriate vaults with no one knowing where the money originated. Dropping a nondescript wax seal on each parchment scroll, Draco made his way to his owlery.

Passing through the empty hallways, movement caught Draco's eye. A portrait, hanging where it always had, hung on the stone wall just at the end of the long corridor. An expertly painted oil portrait of Draco and his parents, Lucius and Narcissa, the movement was subtle, Narcissa only gently fussed with Draco's silver hair, and Lucius only stared ahead, agitated and waiting, giving the occasional side-eye with a sneer. The pride and arrogance in that man's face turned up rage in Draco, the bloody coward. Lucius Malfoy had thrown himself from the Owlery tower before Scorpius was born, unable to face the disgrace that befell the Malfoy name. Not after making sure Draco believed that the downfall of the Dark Lord was his fault, for lying about the identity of Harry Potter, and tossing Potter his wand for the final nail in Voldemorts coffin. Those actions are the only reason Draco was able to keep himself sane. He wasn't a complete monster but had done enough to ensure that his soul was tainted forever. Draco drew his wand from a delicate sheath at his belt and set the portrait ablaze. Letting the canvas burn as he resumed his trek to send his penance. 

The Owlery was full of snow-white owls. Draco always meant to replace them, the reminder of Potters owl was jarring every time. At the end of the day, what did it matter anyway? Attaching all four scrolls to a single larger owl Draco sent them off, the owl knowing the routine, Draco began to descend the stone steps when a small brown owl swooped in the window and dropped a scroll at his feet. Draco directed the owl to a feeder been at the far end of the room and bent to snatch the scroll. It was from his mother, who had gone retreated to Paris to live with distant Black relatives after Lucius' cowardly death. She couldn't bear to be a Malfoy in England, Draco couldn't blame her. The parchment was delicate with swirling handwriting that he knew so well and read,

"Darling Draco,  
My thoughts are with you today, I know it's been 5 years since the loss of Astoria. It's been too long since we last shared words, and I know you do not wish to speak to me, I cannot blame you for that. This letter is long overdue and will be my last to you. I am so sorry for the life you have lived. The hated and menace that filled your home. The rigorous grooming and training for evil. You were such a happy child, a good boy, and you tried so hard to make us proud. My boy, you have made this mother so proud. My wish for you is to finally find some solace in the world as it is now. You're stubborn and believe you don't deserve better, I have tried my whole life to protect you. I have made some arrangements in London for you to speak to a friend of a friend at the hospital. Do your mother this one last service. Just go see him. Dr. Chandra Singh can help you move on. Help you see yourself as the man I see when I see you, the man Scorpius sees, and needs. Just one meeting my son. I have set you an appointment at the end of the month. He's expecting you. I love you deeply and forever.

Yours,  
Mother"

Draco could never deny his mother anything she asked of him, it was his greatest weakness. With a frustrated grunt, he dissapparated to London for the days business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me! This is a long story of compatibility and self-realization. I promise the good stuff is forth coming!


	2. Whiskey and Greenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These installments are probably going to come quick, I am having such a good time writing this! Thanks for the support! I hope you like this next segment. 
> 
> P.S. I know it's a slow burn, but there's nothing like the antici---------pation now is there?

Arriving at the diner in Little Whinging, Hermione was able to quickly spot two of her oldest friends. Harry and Ginny Potter sat a few metres away, sharing a quick private joke, laughing easily together. For the longest time, Hermione didn't understand the pairing. Ginny is a bold risk-taker, while Harry settled down very quickly once his life wasn't in constant danger. All Harry ever wanted was to be accepted for himself and to have a stable, loving home. Ginny Weasley gave him all of that in spades. She grew up in that large and warm family at the Burrow and had known Harry for nearly her whole life. She saw him and his best and his worst. They had so much in common once life settled down and Harry discovered his personality more. He is just a kind and gentle man who loved his Quidditch team The Appleby Arrows. He loved his children deeply and kept a small flock of owls. Harry having Hedwig as his loyal companion for so long, he just couldn't imagine a more perfect pet for himself. Only a couple of them actually run correspondence, but they are all spoiled. 

Hermione never really understood or questioned why Harry always suggested they come to this diner. They had been attacked by Snatchers here and the place was torn to shreds. Harry bought the place a few years later and kept everything the same. He had very little running in the day to day but just wanted to keep it open and allow the owner to do what he loved best.

Ginny spotted her after a few moments and called out. Hermione shook her head a bit to clear the fog of memories and hurried across the street to greet her extended family. Her sister-in-law had grown into such a lovely woman. She was tall like her brothers, almost passing up Harry, with straight red hair and a warm smile. She wore little in the way of makeup and preferred a laid back style of denim jeans and a green jumper. The two women greeted each other with a hug and Harry joined in. 

"Hey love, have you heard from Hugo? I bet he's loving school, where is he sorted? I'm dying to find out. It would be amazing if he was in Griffindor of course but it would be really nice for Albus to have family with him in Slytherin too!" Ginny starting chatting immediately as she usually did. Growing up with all of those boys she always had to fight to get a word in. "No, I haven't heard anything yet, I'm sure he's doing fine and busy with classes." Hermione's answer was a little lackluster and a lot distracted. "Hey "Mione, what's up? You seem a little in the clouds today." Harry had spoken up now, noticing the small tells in his friend's voice. Hermione look up and shook herself a bit. "Do I? I hadn't realized, I didn't sleep well and I got some new clients to see for Dr. Singh so my mind must be there." 

"New clients? Well, that would give you a little bit of stress, you've been seeing the same 6 for what, 5 years?" Harry knew of course because he sent most of them to her in the first place. "Yes, but it is a little exciting, I'm just a little apprehensive, usually I get a chance to screen my clients and check to see if we'd be a good working match, but these are Dr. Singh's patients and I wouldn't want to leave them, or him, in a lurch." Hermione looked a little sheepish when she said this, knowing exactly what was coming next. "Oh, Hermione you'll be fine! You're the best and Dr. Singh knows it. Don't worry about it and do your best", Ginny stated with her usual enthusiasm. She always put such a positive spin on things, Hermione left it alone after that, knowing that Ginny's chipper attitude was a defensive mechanism developed in the years after the war. 

Hermione changed the subject and the trio settled into the amiable conversation of 30 somethings with children, jobs, and mundane responsibilities. After about 30 minutes Harry looked up from his tea and asked, "So where's Ron this time?" There was almost an accusation there, almost. Ginny turned her gaze down, "Not now Harry." Hermione was puzzled by this exchange. "Erm, well, he said this morning he had a meeting at Gringotts for the joke shoppe, he didn't give me a chance to ask beyond that." Something was happening here and she could tell they knew something she didn't. "Hmm, figures", was all Harry could say. Whatever it was, Hermione didn't have the energy to ask further, Ginny was smiling weakly so it couldn't be THAT bad. 

Hermione called it an afternoon a little bit later and bade her friends a farewell. She needed to stop by the Burrow to visit her in-laws and then to her own parents' house to check on them. It was a day of social interaction and she wasn't entirely in the mood for it, especially after this odd exchange. She walked to the pub around the corner, which had a wizarding underground, in the basement was a floo grate for magical patrons that may have imbibed too much and flooed herself to the Burrow.

Finally reaching her dark and quiet home after quite a long day of visiting and chatting and munching on whatever Molly insisted on putting in front of her, as well as all of the questions about the state of things in the Wizarding world from her own muggle parents she finally kicked off her boots by the door. Her parents meant well, and they every right to constantly ask questions, they were out of the loop and after all, their only daughter was a key player in a war they knew little about 20 years before. Plus they were aging and their memory was going, which was a whole other level of unsettling. They'd forgotten her once, and even though she was the cause of that directly, the thought of it happening again was gut-wrenching. 

Ron still wasn't home. If she were to be honest with herself, she was a bit relieved. Hermione could take some time to unwind by herself before the routines of marriage came through the door. Pouring herself a small glass of whiskey, she lit a fire in the hearth and settled down with a book. About three glasses in, and with the fire almost burned to coals, she heard the pop that announced her husband's arrival. Ron came into the living room, popping a kiss on the top of her head and said, "Hermione, can we talk?"

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, but on a stoic face, preparing for the worst. Every person dreads those words, dreads what will happen next. She knew Ron though or at least thought she did. Plus she owed him the benefit of any doubt, so she straightened, and pointed to the overstuffed ottoman in front of her. 

"Hermione, I wasn't talking to Gringotts today. I wasn't even in London. I was speaking with Charlie." Ron looked at his hands, "Hermione, with the kids at Hogwarts, I...Hermione, I'm leaving. Charlie is taking me on to help him with dragon relocation".

Hermione just stared, no words coming to her mind at all. This was a piss poor time to start this conversation, her head feeling like it weighed nothing and her tongue dry. She gulped down the last few swallows of her whiskey and got up to grab another glass for Ron. She eyed him while she poured and handed him the glass, Ron downed it and she poured him another. "Start from the beginning Ronald". Her personal feelings set aside for the moment, she decided that to get the most objective view of the situation, she needed to be Dr. Granger-Weasley, and brace herself for what was about to happen. 

Ron sighed and went into a long drawn out explanation about how inadequate he feels in his life, in his marriage. He noted how despondent and unhappy she seemed, and that he didn't know how to make that happen for her. Try as he might, after all of these years he just didn't understand her, never really did. He talked about how happy Harry and Ginny are, and that they didn't have that. They spent years trying to be normal, but they weren't, because Hermione is exceptional. He swore there was no other woman hiding in Romania for him or anything of the sort. Ron also said that this might not be permanent, that for right now they both just needed space. He needed space to see if he could even survive without her constantly caring for him. He felt like a child, married to his mother. (This caused Hermione's eyes to fly open but she reminded silent). He felt like a constant bother and had increasingly so as the children grew up and became more independent. He wanted her to have time too to discover if this life is what she really wanted. He reiterated that this wasn't a proposition of divorce, just space and time to think. 

Hermione remained silently seething. Here is her husband, making a unilateral decision about their marriage. She couldn't think about it right now. "Ronald, I hear you. I do. I've had too much whiskey to form a decent thought at the moment. I've got to go."

"Hermione where the hell are you going to go? It's past midn-"  
Before Ron finished his sentence she was gone, apparated out of East Sussex and her hope was she would land in London somewhere, she needed more whiskey, and she needed it now.

"Damn it!" Hermione cursed loudly as she apparated into the bog outside of The Burrow. This was not her intended destination, but the flurry of thoughts of Ron and the whiskey had knocked her magical barometer off course. Wet and cold in the October drizzle she trudged her way to the house and let herself in. At least she could make some tea and think to herself while the rest of the house is asleep. Hermione was lost in thought as the tea kettle whistled, she meant to catch it right before it sounded the alarm. Groaning inwardly she waited for the inevitable, but to her surprise, it was Arthur Weasley, not Molly, that came down the stairs, wand in hand, to check on the commotion. "Bloody hell Hermione, you're drunk! What are you doing love?" Arthur tucked his wand away and offered her a chair. A sudden realization dawned on him. "You spoke with Ron haven't you?"  
"Did EVERYONE know about this dragon business before I did! For fucks sake." Hermione was finally starting to sober up, and as she did, she became livid. "Harry and Ginny were so odd today, sharing in some little secret and now you're telling me that you knew as well? How long? How long has Ron been planning on abandoning me to run around Eastern Europe with his brother, under the pretense that it's for my sake?" She slammed the mug on the table.  
Arthur studied his daughter in law, that he loved as his own for more than half of her life. "Darling, we suggested it." Hermione's eyed flicked up to his. "How could you? After everything? Just casually suggest that my husband leave me, leave his home and his children? How coul-"  
"Careful dear, hear me. You are so special to this family. Molly and I have watched you grow, loved you as our own, and feared for you the same. Your marriage doesn't change that. You two clung together after the war. You never got to experience first love as young people. Molly and I dated for years before we got married. You're a therapist darling, certainly, you realize that you clung to someone trying to reach for stability and normalcy. We love you, and we love Ron. Which is WHY we suggested it. Not that you two don't love each other, but you never developed as individuals first. You both spent years helping rebuild our society and then you dove into your education. You raised wonderful children who know nothing but safety and love. But they're at Hogwarts now, and you have time. Time to step back and try to find who YOU are. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age. Ron is a wonderful son who also deserves someone who understands him and his needs. His truest need to be needed and to be able to take care of someone. You don't need to be cared for, and with his children gone most of the year, he's feeling so lost love. Just give it a chance, huh?"   
Hermione is in tears now. "Arthur, what am I supposed to do now?" With these whispered, pleading words, Hermione apparated home.  
~~~~~  
Draco conducted his days business in a repetitive fog. These meetings were all the same. Every day was the same. Returning to the Malfoy home in Wiltshire, he was glad to see that Esta was done for the day and had left him a meal, with a warming charm at the head of the immense and empty dining room table. He stopped at stared at the roasted potatoes and slice of beef on the table. He had no real appetite.   
Draco decided instead to go to his bar, and pulled a bottle of a very vintage scotch from the shelf, a glass, and continued his trek through the looming manor, to the greenhouse, tucked in the back off of a parlor in an unused wing of the house. Draco had always known it was back here, but this wing of the house was reserved for hiding Death Eaters from the Ministry when his father ran the household. Astoria had rediscovered it and used this area as her living quarters. The decor was feminine but classic. She did favor lighter shades with gold accents. Most of it collected dust now, but the greenhouse was her pride and joy. She collected a variety of exotic plants, some magical, some not. Draco might not have been in love with his wife but he respected her ability to breathe life into this place. She maintained this glass room by hand, with a level of dedication that bordered on obsession. After her death, Draco had forgotten the space, until a few years ago, when he stumbled back in after drunken wandering brought him in here.  
Now he maintained it. By hand like she had. It had taken a considerable about of effort to tame the wild that had befallen the place. It was a meditative process that left little other thought in his head save for the scotch, and dirt. It helped that his father would have hated it. The bugs and filth of it all. He spent hours pruning and repotting, driving stakes into the earth, and watering every inch. The flowers had nearly all stopped blooming for the season, which suited him fine, He liked the green. They all curiously bloomed black anyway, even though he knew, they should have been all colors, the way it had been when Astoria tended it. Maybe the plants felt his darkness too.   
The light began to fade and Draco called for the day, half of the bottle gone, he heavy-handedly shut and locked the greenhouse. Making the journey to his bathroom, head swimming with scotch and memories. The silent stoned seemed to mock him with every echoing footfall. It was a challenge making his way through the manor, had the halls always been this long and dark? Draco tried to focus his gaze as his manuvered through the passageways, but the walls warped and bulged with each blink. This house was choking what little life was left in him. A parasite, leeching the last bits of himself that he had tried to save. Even the flowers knew he was a walking deadman, mocking his attempts to maintain life and beauty. Finally finding master bathroom he stripped out of his expensive clothes, now covered in dirt and grime, and stepped under the steaming showerhead, bracing himself against the wall, hanging his head. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. This day in and day out. His son needed him though. Needed the only parent he has left. The warm water ran through his silver hair, down his face, and carved runnels down his body from the dirt and sweat of actual work. The alcohol and heat of the water making him sleepy, Draco stepped from the water and noticed the little scroll peaking from the pocket of his slacks. He picked it up and remembered his mother's favor. "Damn it, woman". With just a towel slung around his waist, he strode to the study to pen a reply.   
"What time and where? This is my last favor for you. All the same, hope you are well.  
-D"  
Sending the parchment with an owl, he finally retreated to sleep, in sleep at least, he truly felt nothing.


	3. Meeting Again in Unexpected Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to go about their normal routine, the pair are blindsided by a chance encounter.

~~~~~CHAPTER 3~~~~  
The next two weeks for Hermione passed in a blur. She and Ron had long discussions about his decision to leave to work with his brother Charlie, with little progress that she wanted to be achieved. Arthurs words banged around in her head incessantly. After a few days, they started to make sense. Ron and Harry had been constants in her life since she entered the wizarding world. Then with the constant chaos that came quickly after, it just seemed natural that they would be constants for the rest of her life. Harry never showed romantic interest, but Ron did. She could see now that maybe, she clung to those feelings he had and mirrored them to make him happy and keep him near her. It makes even more sense that it was Ron because there was a stronger chance that Harry wouldn't make it out of the conflict at all. She and Ron latched to each other, sharing their fears and worries for Harry, comforting each other every time one panicked that he was going to die. Harry was hunting Horcruxes and Ron and Hermione only had each other. She didn't think Ron should leave though, but she couldn't bring herself to invalidate his feelings. If this is what he thought he needed, this "space", she would give it to him. He had given her security and familiarity, and her children. She could give this to him.  
So the house was empty now. Truly empty, Ron's closet cleared of the majority of his clothes, a few pictures from the walls. His shoes and jacket not hanging on the hook where they usually reside. After only a week, the bathroom didn't smell the same. It didn't have that cheap woodsy soap smell that he liked for some reason. She didn't think she'd miss that. Hermione was realizing that she had never been alone before. She had had her parents her whole childhood, and then Harry and Ron once she got to Hogwarts. The Weasleys once she was married, and her children before they started school. Now it was just Hermione. Alone in the townhome by the sea. Settling in after a couple of clients, she grabbed a glass of red wine and with a flick of her wand, conjured a roaring fire in the hearth. The plan was to settle in with a book. The old habit fell away though. She stared at the page of the old tome Transylvania Tales: The History of Vampires and the Lore Surrounding Them, her vision becoming blurry as they filled with tears. She let one fall, splashing on the page. Furious with herself she near violently swiped at her cheeks and finished the large glass in a couple of big gulps. She was done crying. She had work to do tomorrow.  
Tomorrow she went to London to meet the first client that Chandra had set up. She had gotten a few owls from the doctor over the last couple of weeks with details of the individual appointments. She only found it slightly curious that he didn't include the names of these mystery clients, but wasn't overly concerned. Keeping a patient's personal information out of owl was normal, not everyone is so keen for others to know they've been seeing a therapist. Hermione used her wand to put the fire out and trudged to her bedroom. Pulling out an old Chuddly Cannons tee and pair of grey checked pajama pants, she changed and continued to the bathroom. On autopilot, Hermione pulled out her toothbrush and toothpaste and stopped. She stared at herself in her bathroom mirror. Where had the years gone? Her face was fuller, with slight lines around her eyes. The glow had gone from her cheeks and her hair was beginning to grey at the roots. Well, that wouldn't do, first impressions and all. She snatched her wand and used a little charm she'd learned from a witch at the hospital and returned her hair to its chestnut hue. She didn't mess with anything else. This was just her face and that was that. A quick and face scrub and she called it a night. sliding into her empty bed. Alone.  
The next morning had Hermione all business. Up bright and early, a quick shower and she tossed on a pencil skirt and tights, a rose-colored blouse, topped with a smart fitted blazer. This was the general look of choice if she had to be in office. At home, she was more relaxed but Dr. Singh was old school and she imagined his clients were used to that. Before she knew it she was dangerously close to being late. She grabbed her wand and her bag and apparated into the hospital to get started on the day.  
Her first few appointments were standard, the clients only slightly closed off. Dr. Singh apparently hadn't told them they would be meeting with her instead for an unknown length of time. Uncharacteristically unprofessional, but she supposed in the rush to handle this mysterious emergency in India he had just forgotten. Two of the clients were women, who were struggling like she was, their children leaving the nest, and dealing with the anxiety that brings post-war. She could relate to them and made that known. This opened the women right up and they were able to have really productive sessions. One was a man who was beginning to dream of some of the things he saw, slightly older than she, he was at the Quidditch World Cup when the Death Eaters descended to wreak havoc. He recalled the spells flying and the screams, and the absolute terror in seeing the Dark Mark looming overhead. She could relate to this as well. She did her best to give him tools to ground himself back in reality when he woke from such a nightmare. That's all she could do really, give him the tools to help himself, and be a listening ear for his fears.  
It was midafternoon by this point and her energy was starting to fade. Hermione requested a cup of strong tea from the lovely receptionist and took the brief moments before her next appointment to breathe. She rolled her neck and shoulders and stretched. The tea arrived not a moment too soon and she shuffled some papers as she sipped the warm soothing liquid.  
Then as the clock on the wall struck 4 o'clock, a shadow darkened the doorway to the small office. Hermione's head rose and she stood with a smile, "Good After-". Her voice was cut short as Draco Malfoy stood in her doorway, with a stunned expression on his pale features. "Oh for fucks sake! I'm going to kill that woman." Draco snarled under his breath.  
~~~~  
Draco hadn't had an eventful couple of weeks. No surprise there, nothing was eventful anymore. Sent a small care package to Scorpius, a book Draco had been reading that he thought the boy might enjoy, some sweets, and a letter telling Scorpius that things were fine at the manor, asking if he would be coming home for the holidays. Innocent lies to keep the boy at ease. Draco secretly hoped his son would stay at school. Holidays in the lonely manor weren't much fun. Esta did some light decorating, but that's all he would allow. The facade of cheer only made the manor seem more cold and cruel. The promise of happiness that would never come.  
He had decided to keep the appointment that Narcissa had made for him. He couldn't understand why she would set up such a thing. She was never one for sharing her thoughts with strangers or anyone for that matter. A closed mouth family, the Malfoys. Nonetheless there he was, in a black turtleneck and trousers, with a grey peacoat on top. He entered through a back corridor, not good to be seen in the hospital, people still didn't take kindly to him, even after all of these years. It was better to be noticed by as few people as possible. The receptionist was very young, which was fortunate. At least she wasn't as likely to recognize his face immediately. His name, however. She would know. "I have a 4 o'clock appointment miss." Draco kept his eyes down, and the young woman, glanced at her schedule, "Of course, sir. Head right in".  
"Well that was easy," Draco thought, and he gripped the doorknob of the office, and pushed the door open. The face that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Here he was expecting some dusty old wizard in tweed and instead he was face to face with the Golden Lady herself, Hermione fucking Granger. "Oh for fucks sake! I'm going to kill that woman." Draco groaned to himself. The receptionist looked up with a puzzled expression on her face, her eyes shifted from confusion to recognition, to wide-eyed shock. "Damn it." Draco thought, he better get in the room before this poor girl faints. Some of the younger generation let rumors and stories get inside their heads, this one obviously had heard the worst of them. He slowly entered the room and shut the door, Staying quite close to it. "Granger, what in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Draco sighed in frustration at his circumstance. He couldn't help feel that maybe his mother set this charade up on purpose. A strongly worded owl was forthcoming, if not a bloody Howler.  
"I have an appointment with a client, I'm a licensed therapist, I don't know why you've just stumbled in here but my client will be here any second so if you please", Hermione gestured to the door with a slightly defiant face. Her thinly veiled confidence was unchanged since their school days. Her attitude just as pathetically annoying. "I am the 4 o'clock. I had an appointment with Dr. Chandra Singh. My mother set it up". That last sentence flew from his mouth before he could catch it. Great, now she thinks my mummy still sets my appointments...at 38 years old. Hermione's eyebrows lifted in mocking surprise. "Not that my mother sets my appointments, this is a favor to her, why am I explaining myself to you." I'll just go.  
Hermione sighed, "Sit down Malfoy, I'm standing in for Dr. Singh while he's away taking care of a family matter. "He paused as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked about as exhausted as he felt. He couldn't imagine this being a physically taxing line of work, but listening to people prattle on about their problems most likely took a mental toll. Not that he would know. Draco chose not to talk to anyone so that energy was conserved to help him wake up another day.  
~~~  
Hermione couldn't believe this was happening. Dr. Singh was relying on her to be professional and take care of his clients. For whatever reason, Malfoy was a client and she needed to put personal prejudices aside and get through this appointment, the whole hour that was slotted. Man, she wondered if Dr. Singh kept anything stronger than tea in his desk. Sitting down in the chair behind the simple but tidy and refined desk, Hermione lifted her hand to signal Malfoy to sit in the burgundy wing-backed chair that sat across from her. "This isn't a thing a do regularly Granger, I'm not even sure why I'm here", Draco said, sitting down. "So why are you here Malfoy, something brought you here, even if your mother set the appointment, you didn't have to keep it," Hermione asked, almost genuinely interested. Maybe this is a good thing, she thought as the man looked at her beneath silver hair. Hermione couldn't think of the last time she saw Malfoy, she was sure he was probably on the platform when the children left for Hogwarts, she knew he had a boy about Albus' age, but she didn't see him. Her focus was on her husband and children as they said their farewells and did the last minute checks to make sure both kids had everything they needed. He was of course older but looked as though time had stood still for him. It was infuriating. She felt she looked like an old woman, and here was this prat, smooth-faced as the statue of David. He was thinner in the face. Dark circles lay faintly beneath his eyes. He didn't carry as much of the arrogance that she remembered. The way he held his shoulders signaled a man who had lost a great deal and hadn't handled that loss well. Maybe this meeting was necessary after all.  
Draco looked at her and a bit of his fire came back to his eyes, "I'm not talking to you about this Granger." Hermione sighed as she shut her eyes. When she opened them again she calmly said, "Granger-Weasley, I'm married". Well, she is technically still married. Though the permanence of that is currently in question. He didn't know that. She deserved respect and including her full surname was part of that. "Ah, yes you did marry Weasley didn't you? Rather predictable don't you think?" There was a hint of an insult there but it fell flat. He didn't seem to have the energy to properly insult her. "Well Malfoy, since you're here. Let's talk. Catch up I suppose. Any dark uprisings I should know about? Honestly, a little forewarning would be refreshing." Hermione's voice had an edge to it, she couldn't help it, there was something in his face that took her back to being 13 and punching him in the nose.  
~~~  
She was already getting on his last nerve. Draco had been in the room for all of 3 minutes and she was accusing him of participating in a Death Eater revival. This was a bad idea. Draco stood to leave when Hermione called out, "Wait! Wait, please sit down. I-I apologize. Old habits, you know." His hand was already on the doorknob but he paused and looked back. She did look sorry. The conflict danced in her brown eyes. He crossed the room and sat back down. "No Granger-Weasley, I've been locked in my Manor house for going on 20 years". Hermione cocked her head ever so slightly to the right, clearly thinking. "Your wife died a little while back didn't she?" Damn, she's pulling no punches. "Yes. Astoria is dead. Blood curse. Five years ago."  
Hermione paused and pulled out a Quick-Quotes Quill. Draco rolled his eyes. This is what he was afraid of. Some doctor trying to get in his head. He had come to terms with his state of being. Hermione seemed to notice his expression and put the quill away. She asked, "How did your son take it?" Draco scoffed, "Oh swimmingly, he always wanted to be raised solely by his former Death Eater father." He didn't know what it was, but he was beginning to feel slightly more at ease. After all, she did know some of what he faced. Just the opposite side of the same coin.  
~~~  
Hermione was a little frustrated. She really didn't want to be in this room, with this man. She didn't want to be in any of the life situations she found herself in, but whether she liked it or not, she was. She has to adapt and make the best of it. Hermione spent the next hour asking gentle probing questions. After coming in hot with the topic of his dead wife, the hackles immediately rose. A good portion of the hour was silent. She asked about what he was doing for a living these days, how he occupied his free time, and how often he spoke with his son. Those seemed to be fairly easy to answer and get him talking, even if the responses were vague. It wasn't long before Draco was asking her some of the same questions, and she was answering. Telling him how she because a doctor and why she went into the psychology side of things. He asked about her kids and whether they were insufferable like she was at that age. He got her to chuckle at this. She knew what she must have been like as a young girl. Then Draco asked about Ron, and her heart stopped. Ron's fine, spending some time with his brother in Romania. She told the truth but tried to keep her feelings out of it. She wasn't even sure what she was feeling and certainly wasn't going to discuss it with Draco Malfoy at a meeting in which HE was the client, not the other way around. He seemed to notice her short answer and dropped the topic. They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. Then Hermione glanced at the wall clock and announced that their time was up for today. Out of pure habit, Hermione reached out and offered the man in front of her hand. He stared for a split second and took it, giving it a firm shake. He looked her in the eyes for the briefest of moments, and there was a shred of something there. They had shared a little bit more respect after that meeting.  
Draco departed the room in silence and quietly shut the door behind him. Hermione let out a lungful of air she had been unconsciously holding in. She rummaged in the desk and found a bottle of brandy in the bottommost drawer. She swigged straight from it, letting the burn replace whatever other feeling was making her chest so tight.


	4. Moon Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to subtly change in the lives of Draco and Hermione, perhaps their fates aren't sealed after all?

After the bizarre encounter with Doctor Missus Weasley, Draco's mind had been stirred. It had been weeks since the appointment, crisp October, becoming a very cold November. He was of course enraged by the apparent manipulation by his mother, who of course, insisted that she had no knowledge of the switch and assumed that Draco would have seen Dr. Singh. He wasn't sure he believed her; but why in the name of Merlin would she want him to talk to a woman who had so despised them in their school years? Granger punched him in the face for crying out loud!   
These thoughts and questions weren't the only things that had changed for Draco. In the weeks following the appointment, he had been getting several owls of thanks from both Hogwarts and St. Mungo's Hospital. Someone at Gringotts had let slip that the Malfoy estate had been the majority benefactor for the large sums of donations over the last decade. This was not good. Draco wanted to keep this a secret. His secret. So that he didn't look like he was trying to play politics or have to deal with any more of the rumor mill than what already followed him around. Somehow brooding former Death Eater child soldier turned sad widower seemed favorable to young philanthropist trying to right his past wrongs. The former felt more true to him.   
It was early in December when Draco was sitting in his cold study, he had been there so long, staring at nothing with a bottle of whiskey and a stack of various paperwork in front of him, that the coals of the giant stone hearth had burned down to nothing but glowing coals, that two owls pecked at the window, shut to the chilled winter air. He pulled himself from his dark leather chair and opened the window to the snow and chill to gather the letters from the feathered creatures. They were off in seconds after the scrolls were untied from their legs. Owls seemed to know when a snowstorm was impending, and nearly always knew when to make it a quick trip before the weather got nasty. Just as he shut the window, the wind picked up and howled through the trees of the manor grounds.   
The first had the nearly illegible writing of his son, Scorpius, sealed with a Slytherin crest. The sight of the emblem creating the vaguest sense of nostalgia in the man who once had that emblem embroidered on nearly everything he owned. Scorpius wrote that the term was going well, he had befriended the Potter boy and had planned to stay at school through the holidays. Draco was relieved by the news that Scorpius was staying away. His mental state was not one to attempt to create a positive holiday atmosphere. The news that Draco Malfoys son and Harry Potters son befriending one another was...startling. What could they possibly have in common? He guessed that in the absence of the full story of Draco's school years, the boy had no frame of reference to realized that the Potter's and the Malfoy's really couldn't be friends, shouldn't be friends. Draco decided to leave it alone, Scorpius was a lonely boy and whatever comfort he received couldn't come from his father, so if that's where he reached then so be it. Potter Senior might be pissed though, which in its own way, was worth it.  
The second letter came in a perfect envelope, with the crest of the Hospital pressed into a length of twine that kept the whole parcel sealed tight. Draco groaned, having a gnawing feeling he knew what might be contained in the envelope. Pulling a dagger-shaped letter opener from the top right desk drawer, he sliced open the parchment and withdrew a crisp, thick card.   
"Greetings one and all!  
The Christmas holidays are quickly approaching, we here at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries were looking for a way to thank our staff, benefactors, and members of a wonderful magical community for the continued support over the centuries. Through triumph and defeat, wartime and peace, You have been our backbone in innovation and healing throughout the ages. Without you, we could not heal our fellow witches and wizards and provide the level of care that has been world renown for an era.   
It is with these sentiments and many more that we cordially invite you to the First Annual Holiday Black Tie Giveback Gala! This is our opportunity as a pillar in the Wizarding Community to give back to those who keep our doors open, and heal our beloved witches and wizards.   
Please come and enjoy a night of fine dining, impeccable libations, and the musical talents of the spirits of Mozart, Gershwin, and Beethoven. A truly once in a lifetime experience! We hope to see all of our esteemed guests on December the 24th at 8 pm. This event is by invitation only.  
Thank you again for your continued support!  
Sincerely,  
Matilda Hopgrass  
Executive Director, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."  
For Merlin's sake, there is no possible situation in which Draco was going to attend this pompous parade. This is exactly the variety of showmanship that Lucius would have devoured. The chance to rub elbows with other rich prats in the hopes of being the best of them all. Nope. No way. Not happening. Draco stalked to the hearth with the intent of tossing the invitation in the fire. Just before he dropped the parchment in, he stopped. Instead walking back the to the desk and shoving it roughly into the top drawer, along with the letter opener. Taking a very large swig of whiskey, he left his papers as they lie and left the study, preferring to drown his now very annoyed mood in the rest of his alcohol stash, somewhere else in the empty manor.   
~~~~~~~~~  
Hermione was struggling to deal with a life that was completely alone. Her days began to a bleakness that she hadn't known. Of course, her previous existance was routine, but she had shared that routine with someone who felt familiar. Hermione realized that she was a stranger to herself and without the constant following Ron around, cleaning up, gently chastising, and worrying over her children, her days were mostly appointments with clients, the occasional errand in London or in the town of Rye, or just attempting to read. She remembered that being able to sit down in peace and read a book was like heaven to her, but now that time was hers, she was just bored with it. All of her time was spent just waiting for her weekly lunches with Harry and Ginny, but nothing exciting was happening with the three of them, so it was just mundane small talk. Harry seemed pretty closed off to her these days, she wondered if he heard from Ron but couldn't bring herself to ask. Hermione herself had only recieved correspondance twice. Once to let her know he had arrived and settled in safely, which was a little silly seeing as the journey wasn't an arduous one for a wizard, the other was to see if the children would be home for the holidays. She had just received an owl a week ago stating that the children wanted to stay at school with their friends, the Potters were like cousins to the Weasley children and they had apparently made friends with Scorpius Malfoy of all people, who would also be staying as well.   
She found it funny how she had had her run-in with Malfoy several weeks back and now her children were friends with his child. Almost a universal sign to her that maybe, everyone would finally be okay, with this new generation taking the helm and helping to eliminate prejudices and finally bring some real peace to the wizarding world. What a huge cross to bear for a generation still so young. She might have a talk with the children about being careful with who they choose as friends, Hermione was a prime example of the idea that who you spend your youth with, could be who you spend your whole life with, it could shape you in irreversible ways. How often had she thought in secret that if she had never clung to Harry and Ron in that first month of school, how her life might have been vastly different.   
The same day that Hermione received the letter from Hugo and Rose, another parcel came from St. Mungos. She had left it on the table for a few days, assuming it was nothing more than the monthly newsletter for the hospital. Those were fairly unimportant, but she kept them anyway, they usually just outlined what innovations were taking place and how they planned to fund these endeavors and a whole slew of other uninteresting information, most of which she got from the staff when she worked at the hospital for Chandra. On a cold November morning, while Hermione was nibbling at her morning toast and sipping her tea, she decided to glance over it just for something to occupy her mind before she ran out the door. Arthur and Molly had asked for hand in getting rid of some pixies that had invaded Ron's old bedroom. She knew it was an excuse to see her, she had avoided the Burrow for a month now, not wanting to face her maybe soon to be ex-in-laws. She scooped up the post in her hands, and opened the letter unceremoniously and was suprised when it wasn't the newletter, but a neatly penned invitation in bright gold lettering that read,  
"Greetings one and all!  
The Christmas holidays are quickly approaching, we here at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries were looking for a way to thank our staff, benefactors, and members of a wonderful magical community for the continued support over the centuries. Through triumph and defeat, wartime and peace, You have been our backbone in innovation and healing throughout the ages. Without you, we could not heal our fellow witches and wizards and provide the level of care that has been world renown for an era.   
It is with these sentiments and many more that we cordially invite you to the First Annual Holiday Black Tie Giveback Gala! This is our opportunity as a pillar in the Wizarding Community to give back to those who keep our doors open, and heal our beloved witches and wizards.   
Please come and enjoy a night of fine dining, impeccable libations, and the musical talents of the spirits of Mozart, Gershwin, and Beethoven. A truly once in a lifetime experience! We hope to see all of our esteemed guests on December the 24th at 8 pm. This event is by invitation only.  
Thank you again for your continued support!  
Sincerely,  
Matilda Hopgrass  
Executive Director, St. Mungo's Hospital forMagical Maladies and Injuries."  
Well. This was certainly new. They must have gotton quite the donations in the last year. She had been a student there and part-time employee for nearly 15 years and never had they done anything like this. Hermione certainly wasn't going. The last formal event she went to was Bill and Fleur's wedding, almost 25 years ago. Even her own wedding was a casual affair, Harry and Ginny had eloped in France. She wouldn't even know what to wear! "Black Tie Gala" was most certainly not something she could just wear a smart business suit for. No, no this was not her idea of a good time at all. Hermione checked her watch and sighed, onto the rest of her mundane day, she tossed the letter on the table and with a pop, disapparated from her empty townhome.

~~~~  
Draco's dreams had been plagued by the visages of graveyards of late. Usually, the whiskey kept his sleep dreamless, but it seems that ever since he met with Granger, his thoughts and dreams were coming to the surface. He couldn't understand why, he hadn't given her any information that she couldn't find out through common gossip, but something about the way she tried to ask him about his life, crept under his skin. No one ever asked. He knew that it was her job to ask, something about just someone asking, even under obligation, was change. Draco woke with a start, a sheen of sweat coated his brow and left his fine, silver hair pasted to his forehead. The moon shining through the falling snow told him sunrise was still hours ahead. He was wide awake now and realized today would be a very very long day. He pushed back the luxurious goose down duvet and padded with bare feet to the shower. The sticky feeling of the sweat that coated his body reminded him of those nights as a young man. Not even an adult and making adult decisions, well, he didn't make those choices, they were made for him. The sweat and stink of fear were constant in those days, a feeling that Draco didn't everything in his power to avoid feeling again. A feeling of frustration at this sudden intrusion of his sleep made every movement of his a little more forceful than was exactly necessary.   
Throwing his dampened pajama pants to the floor and stripping himself of the white shirt that clung to his chest, Draco cranked the hot water tap and slipped beneath the scorching water. Involuntarily, his thoughts drifted to the Granger girl. She wasn't a girl anymore, that's for sure. She seemed smaller than he remembered though, when she was a teen she carried herself tall, square-shouldered. Now she seemed to try to hide behind her sensible business attire and walked quietly to keep from attracting attention. He noticed that after her initial shock of seeing him wore off, she did seem to actually care about what she was asking him. She noticed his reticence and pulled back. Draco very suddenly found himself annoyed by how she treated him like a wounded animal. He was not about to let her bandage his injured paw and then pat herself on the back for a job well done. She really couldn't have changed that much, he knew for sure she'd go running to Potter and they'd have a good laugh at Draco Malfoy, the broken man. Draco smacked at the tiled wall of the shower, filled with rage and humiliation. Had he really let himself fall so far that he cared about the opinion of a bossy little know-it-all like Hermione Granger-Weasley?   
Shutting off the water and stepping onto a plush rug, he wrapped his waist in a fluffy towel and marched his way to his closet. If he was awake at this hour with this much fury in this body, he could at least be mildly productive. Throwing on dark wash denim jeans, and a thick emerald sweater, Draco marched his way down the cold, empty halls to the greenhouse. Bursting open the doors he got to work, weeding, watering, and checking the warming spells to keep the plant alive all year long. Vines snaked their way around trellis' that Draco had built for Astoria years ago, shutting out the moonlight in most of the greenhouse, he would need to prune those back soon to allow natural sunlight to bathe the room. He worked meticulously for hours until the slightest glimmer of sunrise began to color the horizon. Just has Draco was about to close up and head for another shower, a spark of color caught his eye. In the deepest corner of the massive structure, there was something unfamiliar blooming. Draco made his way to the back of the room, a small blossom, the size of a walnut, shone up at him from the depths. Only visible now with the light from the upcoming sunrise, a moon lily, bloomed in an enchanting violet hue. This startled Draco, everything here had bloomed black, for years.   
Draco retreated from the room and took another quick shower to rid himself of more sweat and dirt and tried to put the moon lily out his mind. This proved difficult. He didn't remember even planting moon lilies, Astoria found this unremarkable and therefore unworthy of her sacred garden. Returning to his study, dressed in his customary slacks and grey turtleneck, Draco tried to do his days work before Esta the housekeeper came in and disrupted his silence. Scribbling out invoices and acquisitions, his inkwell quickly ran dry, unthinking he dug around in the drawers of his desk, hunting down another bottle of ink when his fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the Gala invitation. He pulled the discarded parcel from the draw and read over the vivid gold lettering again. Something in the back of his mind stirred. Maybe he should go, maybe, just maybe, Draco had been trapt in that stone manor for too long.

~~~~~  
"No Ginny, I don't think it's a good idea!", Hermione pleaded with her sister-in-law to drop the subject. Hermione had let slip that the hospital had sent her an invite to the Holiday Gala. "Hermione, you have to go! I've been trying to get my hands on one of those invitations for weeks! They're enchanted to transfigure into a metro receipt unless you're on the official guest list. You just have to go so you can tell me all about it!", Ginny whined like a 17-year-old girl again. Hermione was definitely not going to go just to satisfy Ginny's need to live vicariously through her. Not going to happen.  
"Look Hermione, it's been months, and I know you don't want to hear this, but MAYBE, my stupid brother isn't coming back. I think it's time you at least try to socialize, maybe meet some new people. It's time that you at least try to have a little fun, dance a bit, mingle, maybe....take someone home?", Ginny wiggled her eyebrows at this suggestion. Hermione swatted at the woman, causing Ginny to spill some of the red wine she was pouring into her 4th glass. The two women had decided to go to dinner just the two of them and were now curled up in pajamas before the hearth, talking and laughing and drinking.   
"Are you kidding me, Ginny! I'm still married to your stupid brother. Plus I wouldn't know what to do if another man was anywhere near this place.", Hermione took a big gulp of wine and shuddered at the mere thought. She really had never been with another man, she kissed Victor Krum the night of the Yule Ball in their fourth year, but other than that, it was only Ron. "You say that Hermione, but you haven't worn your ring for a month now. I hate to say it Hermione, but it might be time to realize that it's over. Maybe Ron was right, you two, three if you include my husband, all just, got stuck with each other. I know you all love each other but to be honest, you and Ron didn't have much of a choice. You had this fairytale, post-war, teenage romance, and you guys stuck to the script. Hermione, you guys never got to experience anyone else. What if you're not soulmates, just held together by chance and a fear of finding out that you two just don't work that well.", Ginny kept some distance between them as if Hermione would leap up at slug her at any moment.   
Hermione really thought about Ginny's words. They echoed the sentiments of Arthur. In the back of her mind, she wondered how many of the Weasley family conversations were about her marriage to the youngest son. "I don't know Ginny, maybe. What I do know is that I'm a married woman, and a married woman shouldn't be parading around in a fancy dress trying to get men to shag her. That's what I do know."  
Ginny seemed to recognize that the conversation was over. She knew better than to bring it up again lest Hermione kicks the girl out onto the snow cover street. "Ok then, tell me more about this work you're doing for Dr. Singh. How is it going with these new clients of yours?" Hermione let out a brief sigh of relief. She didn't know how much more of Ginny's prying she could take. Hermione paused and in a wine haze admitted, "Draco Malfoy was one of my clients about a month back." She let her words trail off. "What?" Ginny's leaned forward, voice incredulous. "What is the sneaky little ferret doing seeing a therapist?" Hermione heard the distaste coating Ginny's words. "I don't know what his thought was coming to me, but I can definitely see why that man is bottled all the way. He actually stayed for the whole session but didn't say a damn thing of any real importance. I tried to lead with questions and got nearly nowhere. I do know that he's got some demons haunting him." Hermione retreated into her memories for a brief second. "Ginny, you should have seen him, you could see it in his eyes, he's a broken man. The little emotion I was able to get out of his was a half-arsed teenage slight at my marrying Ron. That's it like he's in a state of delayed adolescence mentally."  
Ginny mulled this new information in her wine addled head for a moment. She watched Hermione's face as she stared at her glass of wine. "Wait," Ginny began, "You can't feel sorry for the worthless git, can you? After all he did-", Hermione cut her off. "You brought a Horcrux into the castle and opened the Chamber of Secrets, remember? You didn't do that of your own free will. Part of me thinks it's the same with Malfoy, not that he was possessed per se, but he was a victim of circumstance just like we were." Ginny looked unconvinced, "Whatever you say Dr. Granger-Weasley, you're the expert."  
Hermione just sighed, there's no reason to spoil a perfectly good friend date with an argument. She dropped the frown that had crept into her features and changed the subject again. The two women stayed up late into the night talking, laughing, and enjoying even more wine before falling asleep on the sofa.  
Hermione woke with a headache from hell. Ginny had already collected her belongings and apparated home. The noonday sun was piercing through the gauzy curtains, causing another stabbing pain in her eyes. She clumsily stood up and reached a kitchen drawer pulling out a vial of Pepper-Up potion and casting a quick modification charm to give the potion some added pain relief properties. With a swig of the spicy liquid, her headache and nausea evaporated, but the heaviness of her dry mouth did not. Hermione followed the potion with a giant glass of water, gulping it down and dribbling it onto her nightdress. "Oh you're in high form today Hermione," she heard Ron's voice echo in her head. Hermione headed straight to the shower to try to be presentable. In just a couple of hours, she would have a client come for a weekly session.   
Once Hermione was feeling halfway human again, she put on a kettle, just as she was settling down in the kitchen chair to enjoy her steaming cup, a rapping noise came from the window. An owl. Great. She stood up and rewarded the winged beast with a treat and took the scroll. She at once recognized the scrawl of Ron's large lettering. An ominous feeling washed over her while she read,  
"Hermione,  
My time here has been really great. I've had a lot of time to think about you and me. Hermione, I just can't do this anymore. I love you, but I love you like I love Harry. We are the best of friends, always have been. But we really can't give each other what we need, not anymore. Hermione, I think we should divorce, and give each other the best chance to be happy. We'll work out summers with the kids later. I just wanted to let you know, I've sent the request to the Ministry already this morning. All you have to do is sign, you can be free to find out who you really are, what you really need.  
Ron"  
Hermione's stomach dropped. The finality of the letter was jarring. It surprised her though, how honest and heartfelt it was. It surprised her more though, that she didn't break in two like she thought she would. She was starting, even just a tiny bit, to be used to spending time with herself. She learned that she didn't like sugar in her tea, though she had always made it with 2 lumps for both she and Ron because that's how he liked it. She started wearing a bit of mascara, she never did before because Ron thought it made her look too done up. Small things like that, we're giving her the strength to be okay with this change too. She stared at her ring finger, the imprint had faded to be barely noticeable. Hermione might just be okay.  
She sat back at the table, letter in hand. Staring off into nothing for a long while, when the glint of gold lettering caught her eye. The Gala, perhaps Ginny was right, not the lurid parts of bringing some bloke home, but the getting out and at least meeting new people. Perhaps she'd go after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so fun to write. I love getting to see these two start to grow and change and realize that they aren't on autopilot anymore. It's been a real treat! I hope you enjoyed this bit!


	5. Loud Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of the Holiday Gala are underway, Hermione is transported mentally to a not so pleasant time but an overheard conversation.

~~~~~Chapter 5  
Fall faded into winter without much fuss. November had been unseasonably cold, so the only difference was time. It was Christmas Eve and the Malfoy Manor remained unchanged. No holiday decor, no mouthwatering smells from the kitchen, no cheer that only came once a year. Empty as always save for lone man, who was either locked in his study, working on mindless business affairs or attending to his greenhouse, which was magically kept warm year-round. The moonlilys continued to pop up, in vivid shades of white and violet, and now to add to his strange collection, a bit of mistletoe mysteriously appeared near the center of the ceiling, and a holly bush, full of bright red berries. The subtle yet sudden hints of color about the room were like tiny fey lights, dancing about the space. Draco at one point had gotten extremely drunk one early December night and ripped every shred of sparkling color from the room. Only to have it return with the sunrise. It was as if not even his internal darkness could stamp out the light creeping in at the edges.   
He had released his housekeeper Esta the night before, to allow her time with her family. He didn't even know if she had any to speak of, but it seemed like the right thing to do. On top of that, the thought that she might try to cheer him up was an unwelcomed idea. It was mid-afternoon now, and Draco was finishing up his business for the day, before begrudgingly preparing for the Holiday Gala that he somehow talked himself into attending. He didn't know why, but something in the back of his head was telling him to go. Draco had learned to trust his gut over the past decade. Maybe if he had learned that skill as a young boy, he would have been able to act on that feeling and stand up to his father and Voldemort, as his peers did. At least, maybe, in the end, he would have stayed with his classmates, not crossing lines to be embraced by the monster leading a losing battle.   
Draco shook himself out of his self-loathing musings, slowly and meticulously putting away his work of the day, stoppering ink bottles and cleaning his quill. Half of it was a need for tidiness and a bit of order, half was procrastination. Leaving his office he drug his feet to the grand bathroom. It was too large for one man and his son, having a massive marble shower, large enough to fit a whole Quidditch team, a very large, ornate clawfoot tub, with taps all around containing every type and fragrance of soaps and oils one could think of. He was always reminded of the Prefects bathroom when he looked at it. The tub hadn't been used since the death of his wife.   
Turning on the taps of the shower, Draco allowed the scalding water to fall over his body, easing the muscle tension in his back from being hunched over his desk for hours. He was still decided if this Gala was a good idea. Astoria had said many times that he needed to come out of hiding, to be at least present in the world again. It's taken him twenty years to follow her reasonable advice. That gut feeling was nagging him incessantly again. Another thought niggled in the corners of his thoughts. Maybe Granger would be there, she was, after all, a doctor that worked at the hospital. If she did, there would be one person there who might not look at him as if he were a snake in the grass. At least, she didn't the last time he saw her. This thought came and went so suddenly that Draco physically shook it from his mind. Stupid Granger, know-it-all, miss priss.  
Draco finished his shower, taking care to shave his face. He was taught as a young man to do it magically, but there was something to knowing how to work a straight razor, the danger in not slicing the skin, having cold steel pressed against places where veins were just below the surface. Satisfied with the smoothness, not a whisker was left intact. Draco strode to his closet. The invitation was clear, black tie. Combing through an impressive selection of suits, he decided against a full tuxedo. That would be too ostentatious, he wanted to glide under the radar as much as possible. Choosing instead for a custom tailor black suit, emerald green shirt, and matching black tie. His shoes were regularly shined by Esta as were the rest of his leather accessories. He selected simple silver cufflinks with a small agate stone in the center, and a silver watch to complete the ensemble. He felt put together for the first time in a decade, a thought that made him feel a little pathetic. Checking his watch, Draco noted that it was 8:30 pm, he assumed that being fashionable late was still de rigueur. He walked back to his study, poured himself a glass of firewhiskey this time, he felt like the added heat would both head off the chill of the winter's night and give him a bit of liquid courage to get through it. Downing 3 fingers in one gulp, Draco felt the fire ignite in his belly. He snatched up the invitation and tucked into the breast pocket inside his jacket, and apparated to what very well might be a terrible idea.  
~~~~  
Hermione's life had taken on a new aura. Her pride was still damaged from Ron's departure and the signing of divorce papers at the Ministry, but she had had copious amounts of time to think. He was completely right. The loved each other deeply, how could they not after nearly a decade of almost dying together? That love, however, was not romantic, there was no passion, no fire, and the could not understand each other on a deep level, because they were just entirely different creatures. Ron wrote occasionally and she would respond in kind. The children were none the wiser at the moment, best save that for when they come home for the summer holiday and Ron can be there with her to break the news. He was back in the country by this point, staying at the Burrow and helping his mum and dad. Ron had spoken to Harry and the slight iciness he showed towards her had vanished with a heartfelt apology. She had her boys back in a way that she hadn't since she and Ron were married. Hermione could see now that this was how it should have always been.   
Christmas Eve had arrived and despite having an empty home, she couldn't help deck the halls appropriately, for herself more than anything. She had grown up in a house full of Christmas cheer and it just wouldn't do to let her home lay barren and empty of the good tidings. A large evergreen tree stood in the living room, with candles and dried oranges on string twisting around it. She had already sent the children with their Christmas gifts and couldn't wait to hear how they liked them. Hermione was sipping mulled wine and finishing up her wrapping of gifts for the Potters and the Weasleys. She would be spending tomorrow at the Burrow, as was tradition. This would be the first time since that evening that Ron announced his dragon quest that she had seen him in person. She thought she'd be more nervous but it felt like all of the holidays as a teenager, she was excited to see her family.  
Finally, Hermione decided she had better get herself dressed for this Gala. She was so hesitant when she first got the invitation, which seems so silly now. Of course, she would go and network with other medical professionals and enjoy a night away from her too quiet home. Hermione showered and magically dried her hair. It remained as wild and untamable as it had in her girlhood, curling and sticking every which way. She decided that a chic french twist should do the trick, leaving out tendrils of curls to fall, just above her ears as to not look so rigid. Her makeup was light as always, save for a deep burgundy shade of lipstick. Her dress was deep navy blue and swept the floor with a slight train, the silk of it hugging her body and breaking with an almost scandalous slit up the leg, ending at her hip. The sweetheart neckline left her decolletage exposed, with small chiffon pieces that draped around the upper parts of her arms. It was by far the most extravagant thing she now owned. A gift to herself, special for this event. She wore no necklace but chose a pair of delicate silver drop earrings, each the shape of a holly leaf. Her shoes were simple as well, the dress was dramatic enough, silver strappy stilettos that were charmed to keep her on her feet and not on her arse. She selected a musky perfume, one of citrus, sage, and palo santo, and dapped a tiny bit at the hollow of her throat, behind each ear, and at the pulse point of each wrist. She stared at her reflection. Hermione was as ready as she would ever be and couldn't delay the inevitable. She was late as it was, it being 8:15, Hermione Granger did not like being late. She pulled a fur stole from her closet and a small clutch containing the invitation. Tucking her wand inside the enchanted clutch, she apparated to her evening as a new woman.  
~~~~~  
The Holiday Gala was located at a long-abandoned Scottish Castle, deep in the Highlands. Such a large gathering of the Wizarding elite really needed to be kept as quiet as possible from any muggle communities nearby, per the Statute of Secrecy guidelines. A looming edifice appeared drab, ancient, and completely desolate. Draco apparated just outside a great wrought-iron gate, covered in thorns and ivy with a small mailbox attached to the outside. He didn't see any wizards or witches around and heard nothing but the silence of the snow-covered woods around him. He assumed a magical entrance of some sort, and with the mailbox being unassuming, it was still out of place. so he removed his invitation from his jacket pocket and slipped it into the slot at the top of the box. The decrepit gate swung open with a creak and Draco entered through the grand archway. Upon crossing the threshold he was greeted with a truly impressive sight, even for a Malfoy who had seen his fair share of grandeur. The towering castle now glowed with lights in the windows, fairy lights draping a series of ornately trimmed hedges in the shapes of unicorns, dragons, famous witches and wizards. The snow fell delicately like glitter falling from the heavens. A portly wizard in a tuxedo greeted him, "Ah Mister Malfoy, what a...pleasant...suprise. Please enter at the main doors, and do enjoy yourself. Happy Christmas sir." The greeting was hesitant and slightly suspicious, but polite enough. If every interaction was this painless, maybe he would survive the night after all.   
Draco entered and made a discrete bee-line for the open bar. Deciding that tonight was a chance to be a little different, he skipped the whiskey, still feeling the fire in his belly burning from the previous glass, and ordered a dry gin martini. The spirit was delicately flavored with rose and jasmine, adding a floral note that pleasantly reminded him of his greenhouse. It was unfortunately slightly pink, he made quick work of the beverage, as he scoped the room. He was surprised to note that he didn't know many of the attendees, which was a good thing, they probably wouldn't notice him onsite. He did see a few people he recognized. Minerva McGonagall stood sentinel in the corner, how she was still alive he didn't know, probably that stubbornness, refusing to let the reaper take her. She looked well enough, she had to be in her 80's at this point, looking stern as ever. He also recognized some of his associates that he frequently did business with, at the VERY least, he could speak with them on some matters dealing with the Malfoy estate. Finally, his eyes set on a stunning witch, speaking to an older wizard who was being a little too forward with her. Granger was clearly uncomfortable but he watched the scene play out. She was a vision. Draco was a little annoyed that he couldn't seem to look away. The dark blue gown flowed over her like water, she looks as if the night sky had fallen from the heavens and wrapped her up. A loose curl at the nape of her neck brushed her shoulders and when she shifted, he caught a glimpse of the slit in the side of the gown, a flash of pale whiteness at the top of her thigh. Draco's mouth becomes suddenly dry as dust. He turned from the witch and quickly ordered a scotch on the rocks, downing it quickly before ordering one more. He knew he should slow down on the libations, this one was mostly just to give himself something to do with his hands.   
Finally, it seemed the wizard realized he outstayed his welcome and departed, leaving Hermione visibly relieved. Draco decided he should stay away from her. He didn't need the headache and really couldn't stand looking at her in that gown, it was maddening. She was a stunning creature, but his childhood enemy turned listening ear. The conflicting emotions rattled around in his body, making him vibrate. He wasn't used to feeling anything but misery and looking at her made him anything but miserable.  
~~~~~~  
Hermione had finally escaped the boring conversation of the hospital director of finance, a wizard in his 60's who seemed to be on the hunt for his 5th wife. There wasn't a large enough sum of Galleons in all of England for Hermione to consider such a prospect and hoped her body posture conveyed as such. Once the man realized his prey would not be hunted, she downed her red wine and made it to the bar for another. The Gala was really a spectacle, dazzling her senses with lights, and music, and fragrances of cinnamon and evergreen. The ghost of Mozart played his Symphony No. 40 in G minor, not the most cheery of pieces but it was undeniable elegant. She felt like a fish in the trees here. Missing her warm hearth and cozy socks. Hermione felt a bit silly in her extravagant gown, extravagant to her anyway, she blended right in with this crowd, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was a child playing dress-up. Clutching her refilled glass of wine, Hermione scanned the crowd, surely there was someone here who wouldn't be a total chore to speak with? Just then, her gaze fell on a head of fine silver hair, slipping out of the corner of the room. Draco Malfoy stopped to speak to a gentleman a tuxedo, his rotund form and pointed face making him look like a large penguin.  
Hermione was surprised to his Malfoy here, she didn't know him at all beyond the pompous git turned traitor from her school days, and of course, that awkward appointment where he most certainly didn't want to share anything. This didn't seem to be an event he would want to attend. After all, barely anyone had seen the wizard in the last 20 years, locked away in his manor house. Well, of course, a Malfoy would turn up at an elite event such as this. The grass is green right? Money and privilege and expensive suits were all over this place. Malfoy's fit right in. Hermione decided to rest her feet and perch herself on a barstool, turning so she had an adequate view of the room. After all these years she still had trouble turning her back to a crowd, something in the back of her head always worried something would jump from the shadows and swallow her whole. Allowing her eyes to search again for the silver-haired wizard, she spotted him again at the far end of the bar. Ordering himself another drink. Hermione did the same, allowing the red wine to cloud her judgment a bit. She felt drawn to the man. The therapy appointment didn't go smoothly, and being the perfectionist that she is she felt like she needed to explain that she usually isn't that, off. Just that her surprise at seeing him after 2 decades threw her off her balance of professionalism.   
A conversation behind her caught her attention, she didn't move but listened intently. A woman had said her name. Not too Hermione, but to another woman. "I was relieved that this was for the hospital's benefactors, I don't think I could have stood another gratitude event the Trio of Golden dipshits," the voice was slightly slurred, obvious that she had been greedy with the free booze, "But then guess who I see walk in, Granger of all people, in that god's awful travesty of a gown. That color doesn't suit her at all. Too bad she isn't here with her duo of halfwitted bodyguards. I'd love to have a shot at her husband." Hermione was aghast that anyone would say such a thing! Then another voice chimed in, "Weasley? You'd have a go at a Weasley?" "Well not because he's anything to look at, but just to fuck with Granger, fuck her husband, and that haughty air of superiority would shrivel away and but her back in her place." The first woman snarled these last words with such contempt, Hermione's eyes stung. She ordered another drink and chugged down half, she nearly stood to leave when the second woman continued the conversation, "Well, probably wouldn't do much good now, my father told me they split, divorced! He ran all the way to Romania to wrestle dragons. I expect it was more pleasurable than listening to Granger rattle on about dusty old books." Hermione was able to situation herself so she could see who these nasty women were, Pansy Parkinson....of course, she was a Flint now, having married Marcus Flint at some point in recent years. She was spearheading this very loud talk about Hermione. The second woman she didn't recognize but wasn't supremely engaged in the conversation. Pansy ranted on and on. "All three of them should have died. Dark Lord or not, they are worthless trash that should have never been allowed in the school. Too bad it was Cedric Diggory that died in that maze, at least he was attractive, and knew when to keep his nose out of matters." These words were a blow to Hermione, she had gotten to know Cedric a bit while researching for the Triwizard Tournament, and on their trip to the Quidditch World Cup, a sweet and smart boy who had such potential. He was her friend. And this wench was besmirching his name, out of hatred for her and her best friends.   
The second girl chimed in, "Did you ever hear what LeStrange did to Granger?" Pansy grinned with delight in this, "Of course! I'm sure that would have been delicious to witness, Granger screaming under the torture, Bellatrix was mad of course, but still, I can imagine how gratifying it was to behold". At this, Hermione's head began to swim. She felt the scar on her arm as if it had turned to ice. "Mudblood" in faint white lines still, after all of these years, appeared on her forearm, a reminder of what some of the wizarding world of the time thought of her, what many still thought of her now, just in secret. Tears fell from her eye as her gaze unfocused, she could hear Bellatrix's insidious laughter and screaming in her head, mixed with the strain of her own screams as they ripped out of her. Hermione's vision suddenly went black and she slipped from the barstool. She felt like she was falling forever, then a hand clamped on her upper arm as she was lifted off of the stone floor. Hermione was vaguely aware of being carried, her head lolled from side to side as she moaned. Hearing nothing but evil laughter, and screams.


	6. Snow and Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco have an actual conversation, each letting their guards down little by little.

~~~~~ Chapter 6  
Draco was lost in thoughts with his drink, the condensation making a wet ring on the dark polished wood top of the bar, when he heard Pansy Parkinson loudly spouting off about something. He rolled his eyes. That girl has been a thorn in his side since they were children. Pureblood families obviously banded together in those days and there was always more than a little pressure for the pair to hit it off and marry. That was never going to happen. Draco never liked the girl and damn near hated her now, still so ostentatious and flaunting of her family's money and status. The Parkinsons were smart enough to not catch the Dark Lord's eye as ardently as say, the Malfoys or Blacks, but they stayed in the outer ring, granting support in the form of money. So when it came down to reputation, Pansy could slide by saying, "Of COURSE I wasn't involved with the insurrection, I was a child and had no control over the family money!" Now she gave a measly sum to various causes to keep up her standing with the wizarding elite. Draco started to tune into exactly what she saying when he heard the word "Granger", Pansy was drunk after all and she was capable of saying just about anything. The content of the drunken rant was starting to veer in the direction of the events of the war and dabbling into blood purity.   
Draco intended to stalk over and grab that stupid, childish woman by the arm and escort her to a portkey and send her arse home. He started for her end of the bar when he realized exactly what the topic of conversation was and that Granger was sitting in earshot. He hung back a bit and studied her face, he could tell that she heard every word, but sat stoically, but with a white-knuckled grip on her wine glass. Draco didn't think that breaking up a fight would help him keep a low profile as planned, but preventing one might be inconspicuous enough. He committed to his plan to get Parkinson out of there, when the look on Granger's face went slack, her skin blanching, and a light sheen appeared on her forehead. This wasn't good. Was nearly on top of Parkinson when Granger slid from her barstool, he pushed past the former Slytherin and caught Hermione before her head smacked against the flagstone floor. She was clammy and surprisingly light as he lifted her from the floor. Granger was out cold. Draco carried her out of the room, with the eyes of everyone on him. There was a corridor off of the main ballroom and he carried her there, for some fresh air and hopefully, a dignified place to come to. He found a small room with a fireplace and a chaise, Draco cradled the small woman in his arms for just a second more she was warm, and he hadn't had physical human contact in a very long time. Her eyes began to flutter open and he jumped a bit, embarrassed for himself, and placed her on the lounge, hoping to be able to walk away and leave her be. He still had Parkinson to manage. He's always cleaning up other's messes.  
She groaned and reached for his sleeve, "What happened? Where am I?" Her questions were almost incoherent. Draco sighed and sat at the end of the chaise, "You passed out Granger, you didn't hit your head, you'll be fine." Hermione's eyes went wide looking at him, then she sat up, and broke into a fit of sobs. "The screaming won't stop, make it stop, the laughter." Her sobs choked her. They shocked him. Draco sat stone-still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, not wanting to get caught up in whatever was going on with her, all he could do was watch and hope it passed soon. He was ready to go home. The fall had knocked a few curls loose and they hung around her face, her pristine gown looked a little rumpled from being carried. Draco lowered his head and said stupidly, "sorry about your dress, it's all rumpled now". What? Why had he said something so stupid? He didn't care about her stupid dress. Or her for that matter. He amended his stupid remark with an insult, true to his form, "Not that it's that great of a dress anyway...". His attempt at a jab was weak. Granger didn't seem to have heard him anyway, though her cries slowed. She looked at him and a wave of confusion took over her features. "Malfoy? Ah, this is great, I pass out after being scathingly reminded of being tortured, and it's YOU of all people who pick me pathetic self off of the floor." Granger started to cry again but that quickly gave way to a chuckle or two, then before long, she was laughing like a madwoman. Ever so often she would glance at him and crack up even harder, tears of laughter streaming down her face this time.   
Draco was a little disturbed, Granger had cracked alright, and she was laughing at HIM! More than a little peeved, he stood to leave, "Well it seems you're alright now, at least physically, so I'll go." Granger kept laughing but said, "No, please stay for a bit longer, so I don't have to reenter the ballroom by myself" another fit of laughter took over, "even if I'm reentering looking like this with Draco Malfoy!" She howled then. He just stood there and watched her, and a chuckled started in the back of his throat too, the irony finally dawning on him. He was in the room while his aunt tormented this girl, he didn't like it. Here he was now, 20 years later rescuing Granger from a concussion, in a room full of healers, for what? Because she was sort of nice to him a few months back. It was indeed laughable. Before long, Draco was laughing just as hard. He didn't remember the last time he laughed. The sound was foreign in his ears. He didn't think he'd ever heard her laugh either. It wasn't a pleasant sound. It was loud and raucous, with fits of gasping. Her face was bright red and dark makeup streaked down her cheeks, from the terrible cries, and the tears of mirth. He found he quite liked it. Damn it...  
~~~  
Hermione couldn't get a hold of herself. The ridiculousness of her predicament caught up with her. Her she was, at a formal gala, fresh from a divorce from a man that she's not sure she was even romantically in love with who is also her best friend, going rigid when some schoolyard bully mentioned something she had come to terms with years ago, and being rescued by bloody Draco Malfoy. She tried to gather some dignity, but then she'd glance up at the blonde man who wore a look of pure befuddlement and dissolve into another fit of laughter every time. Oh well. Better just lean into it. "I need a drink", Hermione said between fits, they were starting to slow now and she felt like she could at least perform a simple wandless spell. With help from her magic, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses appeared on the table before her. She also lit the dead hearth in the room. The chill was starting to seep in and she wasn't wearing much to head it off. "Here Malfoy," she said, pouring two glasses, "You look like you need this as much as I do at the moment". She held out the crystal glass at arm's length, and for a moment he looked like she was handing him a viper. After a long moment, he took the glass from her hand and downed it in one gulp. She did the same and poured a second. "Oh for Merlin's sake Malfoy sit down! You standing over me like that is making me a nervous wreck".  
He looked at her for a long moment and sat next to her on the chaise. "Does that happen often? The fit I mean." Draco was watching her curiously now. Hermione thought a moment, before replying, "Not in the last decade or so, it was frequent right after, then again when the children were little, but after a while, I just got so busy and the fuss had died down a bit surrounding the survivors, I was able to push it all back. No one had put it right back in my face like Parkinson did in a very long time, and not in such...admiring terms." Draco looked down at the glass in his hands, "Yes, I heard her start spouting her usually bullshit and was planning on sending her home, the stupid girl never could be trusted around an open bar." It was Hermione's turn to study his face, "Is that why you were so close? To send her packing I mean. You have impeccable timing I must say. If you hadn't been right there, I would have cracked my skull on the flagstone."  
Malfoy gave her an acknowledging sound, "Mhm, just lucky I guess. I must say it's strange to see you alone and not surround by Potter and Weasley." Malfoy said this with a bit of edge in his voice, and it had dropped in pitch, he must be feeling the alcohol. She was feeling warm and her toes tingled from the amber liquid. She sighed, "Yeah well, a girl's has to branch out on her own at some point I suppose, unfortunately for me, I'm about 20 years too late on that one." Malfoy snorted at this one, "I can completely relate. The manor is empty and I find that I don't much like my own company." Hermione laughed a little, "We are a pair aren't we? A widower and a divorcee with little to no experience on how to function on our own." She was looking at her glass, there was barely a sip left, she finished it and reached to pour another, and realized his gaze was on her, she looked at him then, and for the first time in her life, they locked eyes. There was a little jolt that shot through her, it lasted only a moment, then he broke the eye contact and reached for the decanter for her, pouring each of them more whiskey. Hermione never thought of how pale his eyes were. They reminded her of the bluish tinge the snow had when the sky was clear, technically icy white but with just enough of the sky reflecting from it to call it blue, and they had a dark ring around the iris that pierced through her. She knew the whiskey was making her fuzzy, but she kept looking at him. This man hadn't aged a day. Not a wrinkle or a spot. He was carved from cool marble. She shook herself, "I suppose I should thank you, I haven't said that yet. Thank you Malf-Draco, thank you Draco. For salvaging at least the last shred of my dignity." Her hand moved then, completely of its own accord, and landed on top of his, resting on his knee. It stayed there for a moment, his skin was surprisingly warm, even though he looked like stone. Draco stood then, "Well, just don't faint at fancy events and we'll call it even Granger." He gave her a small half-smile, and left her there, along with her thoughts and her whiskey.  
~~~  
Draco arrived at his empty manor house with a thousand thoughts swirling in his head. Hermione Granger had blacked out because of her horrifying experience with his aunt. He had caught her and watched her have a mini-mental break. He drank a lot of whiskey with her, spoken to her like a friend. Then she ruined it by looking at him the way she did and touching him like that. It was infuriating. He liked it, that was the worse part. She had turned her eyes to his, and those honey-coloured orbs bore into his soul. He didn't think he had a soul left. In one moment she found it, and something about the way she saw a parallel between them. She connected with him, she touched him, just his hand, but also so much more. Draco was livid. He couldn't believe he just ran from her like that. Like the coward, he had always been. Draco snatched up a bottle of whiskey from his parlour bar cart and downed half of it. He needed to be good and drunk to process this evening. He needed to release his aggression, and he knew that there was a pile of fertilizer in the greenhouse and needed to be shoveled into the beds, just the type of physical labour he needed to work this out. He exited the parlour in a huff, then stomped back for the bottle, good and rightly drunk. In his tuxedo, he shoveled manure into the beds, cursing and throwing his weight around and talking to himself the entire time.   
Draco awoke when the misty light of morning began to light up the room. He had passed out on a stack of gardening soil, still in their burlap bags. He was in his shirt and trousers from his tux, head absolutely pounding. He rubbed his face with his hands, too late realizing they were covered in dirt. Draco gathered his clothes and turned to leave, then something caught his eye. A single yellow rose, in the center of the room, blooming in full. It was huge, the size of his palm easily. Where do all of these odd flowers keep coming from? He plucked it carefully from its place, leaving a long stem, and carried it with him. Draco was suffering, he felt like he took a Bludger to the skull, collapsing on his bed, filthy, and still clutching the inexplicable yellow rose, he slept long and deep, and for the first time, dreamlessly.


	7. Yellow Rose

Hermione bolted upright, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple, a flash of bright silver eyes still lingering in her fading dream vision. Her head throbbed, and the memory of the night before, the Holiday Gala, crept into her consciousness. The talk of her past, the fall, Draco Malfoy scooping her off of the floor, a LOT of alcohol, and then the nagging feeling of melancholy when he apparated from her. She had left soon after, not trusting herself to apparate, a splinching was very possible in her state of mind. She was able to discreetly secure a portkey from the doorman in the form of an elegant wrought iron key. She landed in her doorway and retched in the sink immediately, the combination of copious amounts of libation and the gut-wrenching that took place during portkey transport push her over the edge. She rinsed out her mouth and kicked off her shoes, making her way to her bed, she crashed out in her elegant evening gown, dead to the world.  
Hermione crawled out of bed and finally out of that godforsaken gown, she showered off her shame, brushed her teeth, and nibbled on some toast and jam. Oh boy, she had fainted, in a room full of rich wizards and witches, and almost the entire staff of the hospital. She would definitely not be showing her face for a while, thankfully, she really wouldn’t have to, Dr. Singh was returning the country in a week or two and she had none of his patients scheduled until then. This gave her great relief. Head still pounding, she pulled up today's copy of the Daily Prophet, and to her horror, there she was, on the blasted front page, midfall, with the headline, “War Hero Still Plagued by Visions of her Torment” with and article reading,  
“Last night’s Holiday Charity Gala hosted by St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was a roaring success, raising over 254,000 Galleons for new programs and outreach endeavors through the country, but that wasn’t the only exciting thing that took place over the evening.  
Hermione Granger, One-Third of the Golden Trio faints at a black-tie gala after overhearing a conversation of the war days, and incidentally, it is Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater turned apparent philanthropist, catches her and whisks her from the room without so much as a word. No word on who the offending person/persons are who were speaking of the war, nor is there word on the topic in question, all this reporter was able to dig up is that Granger was seated at the bar, and then swooned. The pain of being in a large crowd and hearing such graphic conversation overwhelming her. Word has it that she was also imbibing quite a bit at the bar and one wizard, who conversated with her last night had this to say, “Granger is a strange woman, fidgety and looking everywhere, like a cornered animal searching for an escape. I tried to take pity of her and speak with her at length but she was so uninterested in our conversation that I gave up, terribly rude actually.”   
The strangest part of this excitement is the hero of the evening, one Draco Malfoy, who has barely been seen in public for 20 years, and conveniently shows up to offer assistance to Granger, who was instrumental in the downfall of the Dark Lord all those years ago. This reporter was curious as to why Malfoy was at this very public Gala in the first place and found out through speaking to some of the wizarding elite, that Malfoy had been giving very generously to various groups for many years, and that it was high time he came out from his self-imposed prison. What could his connection be with Granger? It seems to this reporter like they were on very familiar terms. Could this be the reason for the startlingly sudden divorce from Ronald Weasley? Could it have been the discovery of an affair that led to Weasley leaving the country for some time? All of this speculation leaves us wondering if Ms. Granger is the saint the wizarding world has painted her as for nearly 2 decades.”  
The article continued but Hermione didn’t have the stomach. Oh no, she’d have to talk to Ron, she couldn’t let him believe this rubbish. Hermione had never even thought of an affair. She was going to find out who this “reporter” is and have his/her job. For Merlin’s sake, she had just left the gala 6 or so hours ago and already she was front-page news. Good thing Harry didn’t read the Prophet much anymore, not after how much they drug his name through the mud in the past. Hermione tossed the paper in the fireplace. The article did get one thing right, it was odd how it was Malfoy who was right there for her, knew what she needed. Hermione laid back on her sofa, suddenly exhausted all over again. She thought about the night's events. She remembered him lifting her p so effortlessly. He felt strong and supportive, she remembered reaching for him as she was coming to, and remembered the moment her eyes locked with his bright silver ones, with the dark ring around the irises. That moment she touched him, warm skin on warm skin, and how he fled as if she had the pox. Something in her stirred, deep in her belly. Well, she had to thank him. It was the polite thing to do after all, right? Someone prevents your injury and gets you out of the room for air, you thank them right? With a meal maybe? Yes, lunch or something. Hermione jumped up from her sofa and scribbled on a piece of parchment,  
“Draco,  
I am so sorry for my embarrassing display last night. I would very much like to thank you for your chivalry. Would you please join me for lunch this afternoon? I don’t know about you but I could use a good meal. I await your reply.  
Yours,   
Granger  
P.S. Don’t read the Prophet, I may have accidentally outed you as a good Samaritan. Don’t hate me.”  
She decided that an owl wouldn’t get to Draco in time, she sent it via floo, he’d get in a few minutes.  
Now, to deal with Ron. Hermione still didn’t feel well, she went to work brewing a hangover potion. She felt like this hangover needed magical intervention, as well a bit of courage giving properties, she’d need the strength to face her blunder. While her small kitchen cauldron simmered with the proper ingredients for a potion she learned several years ago from Harry, she got herself dressed and rehearsed her speech over and over again. Just as she downed the bitter potion she heard a knock at her door. Well, she supposed Ron had come to her instead, She straightened her blouse, took a deep breath, and opened the door. There was no one there. She looked around, and then finally her gaze fell to a letter on the doormat, letter, and a yellow rose.  
Draco only slept for a few hours but woke up feeling rested like he hadn’t in years. Only the faintest lingering remnants of his pounding headache remained. The mid-morning sun streamed through the open drapery, warming the stone floors, banishing the December chill. He sat at his large desk, paperwork covering the surface, unable to focus on a single task at hand, swirling his spoon through his now tepid morning brew, his thoughts didn’t coalesce on anything in particular. Draco’s mind wandered in abstract thoughts of navy blue, the vanilla back notes of whiskey, the gasps of a surprised crowd, the crackle of a newly lit fire, honey brown eyes, the heat of a hand on his, and a yellow rose.   
Deeply absorbed in his thoughts, he jumped when he heard a tap at the door. Esta, his housemaid pushed the door open a crack and peered in, “Mister Malfoy, good morning sir, hate to interrupt, but I was bringing the Prophet into the dining hall for you and, well you need to see the front page.” Draco was shirtless, and usually more concerned with appearances in front of the older witch, but he had a pretty good idea of what was on the front page. He strode to the doorway and took the paper from her, reading the article quickly, taking note of the moving photo on the front. There he was, lifting her off of the stone floor, striding away. He really didn’t hesitate, it was so quick. In his mind, the moment was drawn out in slow motion. Well, he didn’t remain out of sight as he had planned. He was in the papers again, thankfully though, for something good. Though maybe not for Hermione, this is starting the rumours of an affair, definitely not good for her. It didn’t much matter to him, his wife had died quite some time ago, but she was very fresh from her split with Weasley, and with both of them still very much in the spotlight, it didn’t bode well. Though, it was a little satisfying. There was part of him that still thought like the overly confident and petty teenager he was in his years at Hogwarts before Voldemort zeroed in on him. Weasley losing his woman to him would have been a great amount of fun back then. Now it was messy.  
Draco’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. Losing his woman to him? What was he thinking? He wasn’t INTERESTED in Hermione, the insufferable know it all would drive him insane. Draco snapped back to reality long enough to thank Esta and return to his desk with the paper balled up in his fist. Of course, he wasn’t interested, he did though, feel responsible for her after last night. He didn’t to at least make sure she was going to be okay and maybe help smooth all this rumor business out the best he could. Pull some strings at The Prophet maybe and get a redaction printed. Yes, he could do that, help Weasley out, more importantly, help Hermione. She didn’t need all that headache. Draco pulled out parchment and his quill, dipping the end into black ink, and penned a quick letter to his contact at The Daily Prophet, sealing it with the Malfoy crest seal, he rose to take it to the owlery when the fire in the hearth flashed green and deposited a small letter onto the floor. Floo Network mail? Supposed it’s urgent. Draco picked up the letter unsealed, and read,

“Draco,  
I am so sorry for my embarrassing display last night. I would very much like to thank you for your chivalry. Would you please join me for lunch this afternoon? I don’t know about you but I could use a good meal. I await your reply.  
Yours,   
Granger  
P.S. Don’t read the Prophet, I may have accidentally outed you as a good Samaritan. Don’t hate me.”  
Draco smiled, she did need him, at least for the moment. Well maybe she didn’t need HIM per se, but she did need to eat and wanted him along. She signed the letter Granger, interesting. He was surprised to realize he was smiling, he didn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled. He was enjoying the way this friendly interaction made him feel. Like a human being again. He WASN’T interesting in Hermione Granger, he kept reminding himself. He did want to spend a little more time with her though. Lunch wouldn’t work though, he had some things he needed to attend to. Dinner would work much better, he hadn’t had a nice dinner with a woman in a long time, even though it would be strictly friendly, it would be pleasant none the less. Draco grabbed another scrap of parchment from the desk drawer and penned his reply,  
“Hermione,  
I already read The Prophet, trust me, you’re probably in more hot water than I am. Better take the afternoon to put your affairs in order, make sure I’m not on that list! Wouldn’t want angry Weasley’s on my doorstep. Let’s make it dinner, meet me at the Bistro near King’s Cross at 8 pm. I have a few things to smooth out on my end.  
-Malfoy  
P.S. Happy Christmas”  
Nearly sent it back via Floo Network, but had a sudden idea, as much as he hated it, he couldn’t deny the connection to his sudden blooming garden and the arrival of a certain witch into his life. The yellow rose sprang to mind, he placed the rose on top of the letter, and cast a mailing charm. The letter and flower vanished, he knew it would land on her doorstep, and a magical knock would be heard on her door when it arrived. Smiling, Draco got himself back on track with his important tasks, first of all, sending this request to his Prophet contact, then a quick shopping trip to Diagon Alley, he had forgotten yesterday, but needed to make sure Scorpius received at least a few gifts for Christmas.


	8. Christmas Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our pair finally get to spend a little time together, and the conversation quality surprises them both, but not as much as the unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the month long hiatus! I just got stuck and wrote out this scene so many times and just wasn't happy with it! Thank you for staying interested! Hope you're Halloween was great!

Hermione stared at the flower and letter at her feet. She recognized the small and perfect penmanship of Draco. Reading over the letter, she felt a small flutter in her stomach. His tone was, oddly friendly. This was wholly unfamiliar to her; the entirety of the time she had known Draco Malfoy, friendly was NOT an aspect that she would have ever associated with the boy, haughty and indifferent was about as pleasant as he could usually manage as far as she was concerned. She reminded herself that a lot of time passed and she had changed too. She was even more of a realist, almost cruelly so in some cases. A development that had surprised Ron and began the wedge that had driven them to their current divorce. Even as Draco had helped her the night before, picking her from the ground and staying with her as she had her soul exposing breakdown, he didn't seem, friendly. He just seemed oddly protective. Hermione felt another flutter at that thought, why would Draco feel so protective of her? She worried her lower lip a bit before shaking her head and straightening her shoulders. They were adults now and had been through so much, all of that changes a person.

Hermione placed the lovely rose in a glass of water as she finished off her toast and jam, and thought about the article in The Prophet. It's just gossip, the Weasley's would know that. Harry would stand up for her too, he of all people knew how the media could twist anything little incident to start a riot if they wanted to. She decided that she wouldn't stress too much at the moment. It's Christmas day, after all, unlikely her in-laws would read the paper today anyway. The time was nearing the inevitable, her hangover had abated, thanks to her brewing skills and the Weasley holiday festivities would be well underway. She wouldn't stay long, but enough to see all of the wonderful redheads that had become her family. She may not be married into the family anymore, but they treated her as family long before her marriage. Changing quickly and digging her gifts from a closet, she stuffed them into her small beaded bag, a token from a war gone by, and dissapparated to The Burrow.

Hermione stood on the edge of the property for a few moments before proceeding across the lawn. The ramshackle cottage had seen and heard so much over the decades, the facade showing its weariness. It always seemed like it teetered on the edge of collapse, but year after year, it remained vigilant in sheltering its tenets. She took a deep breath and walked through the overgrowth and into the arms of the Weasleys.  
She spent the next several hours eating and laughing, and avoiding. Molly went all out as usual with the food, Arthur was relishing in his grandparent duties, a few younger Weasley grandchildren were running around, and George was stirring up some sort of trouble she knew. Ron stayed cheerful on the outside but generally avoided Hermione's eyes. She was searching for any sign of him knowing about the previous evening. She couldn't tell, but Molly had a tinge of concern when she looked at her. Hermione started to relax a bit realizing that if anyone knew, they weren't bringing it up today. The day went on in the usual fashion, gifts were exchanged and toasts were given. The children set to playing with the toys they were given and the adults settled around the table to watch. Hermione saw this as the perfect opportunity to slip out. Exiting to the foyer, she was just about to apparate when Ron caught her arm gently. 

"Are you ok Hermione?", He whispered cautiously. Hermione searched his eyes for any sign that he knew something but still wasn't sure. "I'm okay Ron, please, don't worry about me. Go be with your family, I'm sure I'll see you soon.". She realized a bit late that her answer was a little colder than she anticipated, she gave a small smile to soften the tension in her words, and disapparated to the small Bistro Draco had mentioned, unprepared for what came next. 

~~~~~~~~

  
Draco spent his day tracking down his contact at the Daily Prophet. He decided to be more direct than an owl, this would take an in-person visit. With a few Galleons and a bit of arm twisting, he had convinced this editor to publish a clarification, to remove any salacious suspicion from the previous evening's event. He also wanted to clarify that Pansy Parkinson was being brash and she needed to be put in her place. He hoped it was enough to alleviate any problems that Granger might have had come up due to her...incident. This task took the better part of the day, the contact in question tended to vacation in Scotland for the holiday and needed to be tracked down. But once that task was done, Draco headed to Diagon Alley to purchase a new sterling silver telescope for his son. The boy had hinted at his relentless for a few weeks. Then once that parcel was off to Hogwarts, Draco found himself alone in the Manor with his thoughts.

He sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of his library, holding a book open in his lap. The page hadn't been turned for at least 45 minutes as he stared at the patterns on the ornate rug under his feet. His thoughts mulled around, never really settling onto anything in particular. The rose kept creeping into his vision, nothing that vibrant had bloomed in his garden in a very long time. Even still, having grown up in a magical world, magic still had mysteries to it. That kind of magic didn't lie. He had made a connection to the witch, whether he liked it or not. The stone walls around his heart tried to hold firm, but a yellow rose cracked through. Draco decided to let his mind go wherever it wanted, without shutting out the thoughts that raced in.

He remembered a young Granger, she wasn't a particularly attractive girl. Her hair was dull and bushy, she had an attractive enough face but her teeth always seemed much too big for her delicate features, and the permanent scowl she wore around him pretty much guaranteed that he never looked at her for too long. She was fierce though, she did deck him right in the face third year. Then the war broke out, full force. She was a soldier. He had heard about her efforts, watched her be taken prisoner and tortured. Her loyalty and resolve never once faltered. Draco felt like his loyalties flip-flopped. They were opposites. She was strength and resolve, while he allowed himself to be used as a pawn and then hid behind his mother's skirts. Thinking about her now, he could finally see why she was Wizarding Britain's darling. She helped lead a war and a political revolution and then hunkered down to help others deal with the residual loss. In all of these years, she still hasn't stopped fighting and mending. She was an impressive young girl, who grew into an impressive woman. Draco had spent a considerable amount of time berating himself for being pulled in by her. Thinking about her experiences though, made her feel less like the bossy know-it-all he knew and more like a kindred spirit. He knew he needed a connection to SOMEONE, and this was the one unfolding. His stubbornness didn't seem to matter. She had barrelled into his life, and the garden bloomed. He knew magic, he couldn't ignore the implications. He hadn't felt anything real in so long, the emotions buried so deep, he wasn't even sure they were there. Voldemort, his father, and the crippling expectations of his name and title had crushed him so deeply. He wasn't sure if he had anything left at all to give anyone. The fire in the hearth of the library burned to coals before Draco snapped out of his thoughts. Just as he did the clock struck eight, he cursed and dissapparated from the room.

Arriving almost instantly outside of a small bistro, he spotted Granger, sitting on a bench in the cold, book in hand. He watched her for just a moment, not quite ready to approach. The street was empty, save for a couple of passersby. The ends of her hair danced ever so slightly on the winter breeze, her cheeks were pink, she really was lovely. Draco approached cautiously. A little voice in his head told him to leave, to go back to the cold stone walls of his Manor. He realized he was nervous. Nothing had made Draco Malfoy nervous in a very very long time. He felt his heart rate go up, taking a deep breath he soldiered on. 

~~~~~~

Hermione had arrived a little early, just a few minutes. A habit of hers, some of her school-girl routines never went away. She appreciated the stinging cold on her face. The rest of her was warm enough, warming charms woven into the fabric, magical engineering at its finest, but the cold on her face was refreshing, reminding her of Christmases as a girl, delighting in snowflakes and the promise of hot chocolate to come. As was her trademark, Hermione held a book in her lap, a large tome regarding the magical properties of plants. Neville Longbottom had gifted it to her many many years ago after Harry had used gillyweed in the Triwizard Tournament. The page was turned to the magical uses of roses. Curious as to why Draco had sent a yellow rose. She wasn't even sure if he knew, the flower had powerful links to relationships, heralding in strength and prosperity in two people's relationship, generally thought of as a platonic symbol, it also worked with the powers of long-awaited love, and unconditional love in all forms. Her head mulled over the implications. Draco didn't seem like a person capable of love. Hermione herself didn't feel like love was in her future. She didn't understand what was unfolding, but everything seemed to be leading her down a path. Magic wasn't just charms and transfiguration, but a cosmic structure that laid out symbols and pushed and pulled at people's souls and destinies. As she studied more, she had come to realize that as magical advancement progressed, so many of the old teachings were lost, which is why ancient magic baffled so many. Progress for progress sake had given them so much, magical healing, day to day tasks, magical travel, but there was so much more heart in it before, magic wasn't a tool, it was a life force that turned the universe.

She heard Draco apparate before she saw him, but stayed still, book open. She was curious as to how/if he would approach her. After several long seconds, she heard the snow crunch softly beneath his feet and looked up. His features were placid and docile, relaxed even. Something that was as shocking as anything else. Hermione had only ever seen tension in his features, whether menacing, cruel, or angry. It softened his whole countenance. He looked like Jack Frost himself, haloed by falling snow with his sharp angular features, incredibly pale hair, and icy silver eyes. Hermione closed her book, stuffing it into her beaded bag, and took a breath, "Happy Christmas Draco, you look well, considering last night." She added that last part as she looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. Draco regarded her for a split second, "Happy Christmas Hermione, it seems you aren't left worse for wear either." Hermione flushed slightly, glad for the stinging cold to hide the extra heat in her cheeks. "Yes, well", she sighed, "I shall live to see another mental breakdown." Draco chuckled, a sound that for the second time in the last 24 hours, took her by complete surprise. Draco Malfoy can laugh, and without a hint of cruelty, a wonder of wonders.   
They stood in the snow for a few moments longer, the awkwardness beginning to creep in. Two people who have known each other most of their lives, but still almost complete strangers. Draco broke the silence, "Shall we? It's freezing out and a think a cup of tea would warm us both."

~~~~  
Draco extended his arm and led her through the doorway of the small eatery. Quaint yet still slightly upscale, it was nearly empty, save for a lone wizard tucked into a booth in the corner. Jazzy Christmas tunes played softly from an unseen speaker, the walls were decked with understated evergreen garland with tiny twinkling lights, the atmosphere was set so perfectly he could almost be convinced it was magic. Draco stood back a moment to let Hermione choose their table, to his surprise she selected a table in a darker spot in the room. He wasn't sure why this surprised him, he didn't know the witch well enough to make suppositions about her table choices. Something in his chest though told him that the brave and bold witch from Hogwarts might have chosen a table near the window, or maybe even the centre of the room. 

Draco's etiquette moved him as if in autopilot, taking her coat and pulling out her chair. She moved in graceful silence, not really meeting his gaze. Draco may have been an arse in school, but at home, proper manners and etiquette were strictly practiced and enforced. He could almost feel the sharp sting of his father's wand whacking him on the back of the hand if an elbow grazed the table, or if he ignored the proper use of his silverware. Draco finally took his seat as Hermione settled in. The waitress approached and they each order some tea. Hermione was fidgeting her hands in her lap and the awkward silence was heavy and made the air feel thick. He watched her over the tables centre piece, a small lantern wreathed in holly and evergreens. She seemed to have a thousand thoughts going through her head, her expressions almost imperceptively showing each one. Then something shifted in her face, resolution. Hermione's shoulders drew up, and she spoke, "This is a really nice little place Draco, lovely choice." Her words shook him out of his thoughts, glad she had broken the silence. "Yes well, it's quiet, and not many magical folks come here", Draco's reply sounded embarrassed and he mentally kicked himself. He knew how to hold a conversation. Why was it so hard now? "Look Hermione, don't worry about last night's events and the Prophet. I've made some...heavy suggestions to one of the editors. He will be clearing up the whole mess with a redaction in tomorrow's Prophet. You won't need to fret that the entire magical community of England might think you've been fraternizing with the enemy." Hermione nearly snorted into her tea, "Fraternizing with the enemy? For Merlin's sake Draco, you sound like Ron did at the Yule Ball fourth year." Draco felt chastised, his skin prickled as he grew slightly irritated. "Caught being whisked off by a former Death Eater, that can't be a good look for the Heroine of Hogwarts now could it, Granger." His words had an edge to them, but instead of looking hurt, she scoffed. It seemed she still had a little bit of fire left in her. 

  
"If I had an article written about me every time I associated with a former Death Eater, I'd never be able to leave the house again, Malfoy, I am one of VERY few that give a damn about mental health in the magical community, I have worked with several very nasty former Death Eaters, as well as sympathizers over the years, trust me when I say, you've become low on the totem pole when it comes to being a threat. If anything the biggest scandal was simply due to me being me, fresh off of a divorce that has become more and more public as the press catches on." There she was, a little fire left indeed, the way she picked up on his using her surname and spinning it right back at him, it softened his own edge a bit and he smirked. Clearing his throat he chose to change the subject, he needed answers, trying to figure her out, it had been cloying at the back of his brains for months since their first encounter in a therapy session. "Yes, Hermione the "therapist". I was intrigued that you brought such a muggle profession to the magical community, but I guess I should be surprised, Potter didn't need your help anymore, but you couldn't stop helping could you?" As he spoke Draco worried slightly that his tone might come off as harsh or cruel, that wasn't his intention, sardonic conversation was just his way. 

  
Hermione looked at him, clearly amused by his tone, "Well, I intended to be a healer, but it just became too, much the physical wounds. Reminded too much of wartime, it took me right back every time. So I contacted another Muggleborn wizard from India who had set up a small practice at St. Mungo's at about the same time. He told me about his idea of bringing magic into his very muggle profession, it seemed that the magical world forgot the effects of mental health on a person, and how it affects their magic. So I trained under him instead, bringing about a new branch of magical healing. Helping the broken to mend." Draco watch her intensely, she had a passion for this field and a deep sadness that brought her to it. He decided that he didn't want her to try to get in his head. So he would keep her talking.  
  


~~~~~~

Draco listened to Hermione with rapt attention, asking her questions about her job, and some of the research she's done over the years. It was so refreshing to get to speak on the subject she was so passionate about. Ron tried to stay attentive when she spoke about her day, especially in the beginning but just couldn't keep up. Not that Ron wasn't able to follow, she just got deep into the jargon and the details and it went over his head. Draco on the other hand, followed perfectly, asking probing questions that had her dipping into her deep well of knowledge. He kept her talking, no lulls in conversation, her nervousness and awkwardness fell away and she forgot she was talking to Draco Malfoy, childhood bully and enemy turned Death Eater. She thought for a fleeting moment, "Is this how adults make friends?"

  
She realized about an hour into the conversation that Draco didn't seem to want to talk about himself, she would prod and poke and he would give a small answer, no detail, and flip the topic back to her. His conversation style was so effortless now, that it wasn't obvious at first that he was turning the talk away from himself. Hermione really liked it she realized. She wasn't being overshadowed by the perils of the day, or the children, or Ron and joke shoppe, or Ginny's latest Quidditch match. Draco was paying attention to her. It felt good.

  
The hour was starting creeping late but Hermione ignored it, she would sit here as long as she could. She had decided that it didn't matter who he was before, the man sitting in front of her was completely different from the schoolboy she once knew, he was even different from the man who sat in her office at St. Mungo's. This is the man she glimpsed briefly through blurred vision and slurred words in a side hall of a grand gala. She wondered, not for the first time if this was the boy he could have been if he bore a different surname. If he hadn't been defined his whole life by outside sources that never had his wants and needs in mind. 

  
Draco had asked her about what sorts of things mental trauma can do to one's magic when Hermione was blinded by a sudden flash of bright light, with the flash, the lantern in the centre of the table exploded, sending shards of glass flying, Hermione felt a sting as one sliced open her right cheek. Draco's head whipped around as another jet of magic collided with a painting of a ship, shattering the frame. Pansy Parkinson stood there panting with rage. "You filthy little Mudblood, you vile stain!" Pansy's words dripped with hatred and disgust. She raised her wand to cast another curse in Hermione's direction, before she could utter a sound, Draco's wand was out and Pansy's flew from her fist. It clattered to the floor, so loud in the now-dead silent restaurant. This should have stopped the witch from further attack but this rage was deadly. Pansy flung herself across the room at Hermione and together the two women tumbled to the ground. Pansy was screaming, "I'm ruined you vile creature, my whole reputation!" Hermione was able to roll the woman on her back and then her wand came out and cast a binding spell to hold Pansy in her place. This is a muggle establishment, Pansy would be in very hot water for breaking the Statue of Muggle Secrecy. Thankfully there was only the proprietor and the waitress left in the building. She could manage that. 

  
Panting Hermione stood, Pansy was stone stiff on the floor. Draco stood, chest heaving, fire in his eyes, he stalked over and crouched low over the attaching witch, wand just an in from her face, shaking with rage. Hermione gently grasped his bicep and pulled him to his feet, "No, Draco. That's not the way anymore, you don't have to do anything." Hermione caught his icy eyes, where once they sparkled with the fallen snow, now the churned like a stormy sea, full of anger and hatred. It was terrifying to behold.

  
The proprietor emerged from the back of the restaurant slowly, he just witnessed a lot of things that were shocking, he was in shock and shaking. Hermione turned to Draco, "Get her out of here Draco." He nodded, I'll deal with her at the Manor, she's been needed a lesson taught for quite some time now." Hermione saw the muscled in his neck and jaw flexing with tension, she suggested, "No, you take her to my house in East Essex, I'll send for Harry to help me clean up here, I'm better with a memory charm but he'll be needing to make a report for the Ministry. Draco nodded to her and grabbed the witch by the throat and apparated out of London. Hermione locked the front door and drew the blinds. The owner was shaking in a corner, trying to call the muggle police. "Here sir, there's no danger now, let me call the police, your hands are shaking." Hermione took the telephone and called Harry Potter instead.


	9. Redemption and Life Choices

Chapter 9

Draco brought the stupid bitch into Hermione's flat, the front door was unlocked. Just like Granger to be cocky enough to leave the door open, stupid girl. He sighed, he wasn't mad at Hermione, this wasn't her fault. It was Parkinson who would feel his wrath. This was twice in a fortnight that the horrible woman had caused harm, in public, to a woman who didn't deserve. This would be the last. Not only did Parkinson physically hurt Hermione tonight, but Draco had just about led the conversation where he wanted it to go. He started to realized midway through the evening that Hermione might have the answers to unlock the mystery of his greenhouse. Why suddenly color and flowers started blooming again, and why it had stayed so dark, to begin with. She mentioned that one's mental state and trauma could affect one's magic. The greenhouse was tied to Malfoy Manor, and the Manor tied to Malfoy magic, his magic. 

He turned his attention back to Parkinson, she was still frozen, a look of hatred and rage etched into her sharp features. She had never been very pretty. He was forced to spend time with her all of his life, their bloodlines and family names at one point would have led to an eventual engagement. If it weren't for Potter, and by extension, Hermione, he'd be married to the stupid little witch. Maybe he should shake Potter's hand for sparing him the experience.

There was a time where Draco would have killed her right there. No remorse, no question. She was a liability, she was dangerous, erratic. Draco hadn't murdered anyone for a long long time. It would be quick, though probably not as easy as it once was. Dark magic was a skill that one lost with time and came easier with practice. You have to intend death and destruction to practice it. He wasn't even sure he was capable of dark magic anymore, being a father made him softer. Trying to be a decent father made him very careful of the magic he practiced. 

The front door burst open and Potter rushed in, wand in hand, Hermione close on his heels. Hermione looked exhausted, Memory Charms were strenuous magic, even though she only needed to cast two, it could take a lot out of a witch. Her hair was touseled from the winter wind and her left cheek pink, her right cheek slashed and bleeding. It struck Draco that neither she nor Potter seemed bothered by the cut or the blood. They had both seen and felt worse, and they had a mission to finish first. Draco felt like he was getting a peek at what the war looked like for the pair. 

~~~~~

Hermione followed in Harry's wake as he pushed through the entrance to her quiet home. Draco stood over a still bound Pansy, most of the rage had fizzled from his countenance and he stood looking a little lost. Hermione's tongue flicked out and she tasted blood. She could feel in the movements of her face that the wound wasn't too deep, so she could worry about it later. Harry stood between her and Draco and asked, "Am I right to assume that this is in response to the article in the papers this morning?" Hermione groaned, "Harry, come on, it's not what you thin--" Draco cut her off, "Look Potter, Parkinson through around some nasty words last night and Granger was in earshot, Granger began to fall ill and fell out of her chair, I just happened to be the one close by and paying attention. That's all." 

Harry squinted at the two of them, "Parkinson has been acting out quite a bit in recent years, this isn't the first time she's accosted someone in full view of Muggles, her family money has been able to get her out of hot water before, but the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement doesn't hold much weight with Galleons, so she'll have to have a formal hearing." Hermione sighed, "Well Harry, Do you have everything you need? You got my statement in London, Draco has given you his, you spoke to the proprietor before I cast the charms, if there's nothing else I'd like you to get this witch out of my house please." Hermione suddenly felt tired, the bubble had burst and the good feelings of the evening drained away. Harry reached out and took her hand, "I have everything Hermione, are you sure you're ok?" Harry said this to her but his eyes flicked to Draco. "I can come back if you need, or send Ginny." Hermione squeezed his hand, "No Harry, I'm fine. It will take more than a snotty witch to take me down." Harry laughed and hugged his childhood friend. He eyed Draco another moment and added to Hermione, "We'll need to talk later." With that he grabbed Pansy Parkinson by the wrist and disapparated, taking her to the ministry to questioning. 

Hermione stood there for a moment. Draco Malfoy was in her house and he was looking at her. Hermione didn't like the tension, she tried to make a joke, "Happy Christmas!" She gave a half-hearted laugh. Draco didn't laugh. "You're bleeding." His face was serious, pain stretched across it. Hermione's hand flew up to her cheek, when she pulled her fingers back they were glistening red, "Oh yeah, it's nothing, it can't be deep. I've definitely endured wor..." Draco cut off her rambling closing the distance between them. He was tall and covered the distance in two-fluid strides. Hermione took a step back in surprise. His fingers reached up and touched her cheek, his middle finger landing just about the gash, his thumb right below, a touch so light she barely felt a thing. A sudden warmth spread across the right side of her face, she felt the blood left on her skin being pulled back into the cut, she felt the tissue knitting together. Draco's eye met hers and her skin prickled. Draco towered over her. The scent of black pepper, sandalwood, and earl grey tea delicately registered in her mind. She realized she had backed into the counter of her kitchen, trapt between the tile and the enigma before her. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, but was only seconds, the warmth left her face, following the elegant hand, as Draco dropped his arm to his side. He stepped back and studied her. She stared back, trying to figure out how she was feeling, trying to figure out what was behind those stormy eyes. Draco straightened a bit, "You really should worry more about yourself than others Hermione." Hermione was taken aback by this seemingly random sentence. "What?", Hermione blinked a few times. Draco just sighed, "You were attacked by a deranged witch and you immediately clean up the situation with no regard for yourself or your injuries." Hermione began to protest, "It was just a scratch, Draco I'm fine really."

Draco cut her off, "Is that how you have always lived your whole life? Taking care of those buffoons all through school, keeping them alive during the war, then playing housewife to Weasley and your children? Honestly Hermione. It seems like you've never done anything for yourself."

~~~

Draco was as surprised by his own outburst as Hermione seemed to be. Part of him immediately regretted saying it, they weren't that familiar. Another part was glad he had said it, she needed to hear it. He spent the better part of the last several hours listening to her intently, other than her studies and career, she did nothing for herself. Not that he was an example of treating yourself well, but she deserved it. He didn't. She fought a war and lost loved ones and triumphed. He was part of the side that caused her pain and he deserved to live in self-imposed exile. She deserved to live in the light. He did not.

Draco watched as Hermione regarded him, she stood there defiantly for a moment, then her shoulders slumped forward and she sighed. He watched as she turned from him and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the cabinet. As she poured, Draco started feeling regret for saying something so harsh, but he felt like she needed to hear it. It seemed that she had been surrounded by people who didn't really appreciate her, not really. Draco hadn't known her growing up, but watching her break the night before, listening to her speak tonight. She has been stuffed into a box. She spoke with such passion, he could tell that no one else ever asked her questions, never cared to care. She was so bright, she lit up a room, but she had put a shade over her so Potter could shine. It was a shame. 

Hermione handed him a glass and gestured to her kitchen table. He sat. He looked around the home. He had been so distracted by the night's events he hadn't really taken stock yet. It was the opposite of what he called home. Warm and inviting. Vintage floral wallpaper and bookshelves everywhere, even in the kitchen. It was small but furnished very carefully. Everything looked immaculately taken care of but also very well-loved. The lights were soft yellow and it smelled like coffee and ink. Fresh wildflowers sat in a vase on the counter. So opposing his cold and dark manor house.

She sipped at her drink slowly, she was in no rush. Draco watched her and she sat in her chair, one leg tucked beneath her, the other folded up so she could wrap her arms around it and rest her chin on her knee. "Hermione you were talking tonight about mental health and trauma and the effects it has on a person with magic. I'd like you to elaborate on that." The question came out rushed, but he had developed a theory and wanted to attempt to confirm it. Hermione looked up from her glass, regarding him carefully. He wasn't sure what her expression was, it wasn't suspicious, more curious, with a hint of....sadness?

"Well, it's pretty obvious once you spell it out. " She began, unfolding her legs to sit up straighter. Draco felt like she was going into lecture mode. He listened with rapt attention. She continued, "When the human brain faces trauma it builds walls to protect itself. Defense mechanisms emerge, new fears or anxieties, personality ticks, the human brain is even capable of walling off entire memories and you might forget small or even large parts of your life. Wizards and witches are just another species of human, with the magical gene. Much of the physiology is the same but with some different outcomes. Your magic is linked to you, it's part of your body, your mind. When you damage the mind, you can damage the magic. Now one can try to work through that trauma and pain, and sometimes the magic heals too. It's a tough road for most, but possible. That's what Dr. Singh and I work on. Healing the brokenhearted, and healing their magic."

Draco mulled this over in his mind. Hermione Granger was doing groundbreaking work and no one was talking about it. He thought to everyone he knew, he thought to his parents, and the oddities in their magic, he thought about the magic of the manor, the doom, and gloom and enshrouded the grounds. "Hermione, do you even realize how brilliant you are? The work you are doing could change wizarding medicine, and no one is talking about it. I've known of your intellect since school, heard all of the people saying that Hermione Granger is the brightest witch of her age. You really are, but I can't help but think how low you have let yourself fall to let others have the spotlight." With that Draco left the house, and returned to his dark and cold existence.

~~~~

Hermione sat in stunned silence as Draco dropped his opinions of her right in her lap and left through the front door. He spoke to her with such conviction in his voice. He sounded a little like Ginny, she'd heard that all before from her friend, but in small subtle ways over 2 decades. Draco dropped it like a bomb, and after all, she had been through lately, it was like her defenses were down, and the truth of his words crashed in around her like a flood. She was 38 years old, her entire life had been dedicated to the Wizarding World she was eleven. He poured everything she had into it, and it took everything from her. It threatened her family, her friends, killed more people than she could count. Even as she worked tirelessly to heal the wounds left by a war she helped lead, it took from her. Hermione Granger sat alone in her empty house. She missed her children, she missed her youth. She missed studying with her best friends, laughing by the Black Lake, soaking up the spring sun. She missed when she and Ron were young and naive and trying to love each other. She felt small, weak, and tired. What did she have now? Just an empty house, and a job that went unnoticed. Hermione left the glasses on the table and walked like a shadow to her bedroom. She curled up under the slightly worn duvet and fell into a fitful sleep. 

Hermione woke to the morning light, there was a chill in the air. She sat up in bed, pouring over the events of the last two nights in her mind. The dazzling ballroom lights, a navy gown, the fall, and the screams that ripped through her head. Strong arms lifting her from the floor, icy blue eyes staring at her as she drank and wept and laughed filled her memory. A yellow rose, crunchy new snow, and a lovely conversation, then a blinding flash and pain in her cheek as chaos broke out. Hermione's fingers reached up to feel the faint line that still lingered. Draco Malfoy had healed her. She could feel his fingers graze her skin so delicately and she remembered watching the storm behind his eyes as the warmth of his magic knitted her flesh together. She had felt a deep chill when he broke contact with her skin, the shiver had crept up her spine and rattled her bones. 

She shook her had and scrubbed her hands along her face. She needed to sort out her head. She needed her best friend, at first she thought of Ginny, but she knew Ginny tended to tell her to go all in. Ginny was a true Gryffindor in a why Hermione and Harry just weren't, she dove headfirst into the deep end with no regard for the consequences. Harry and Hermione had been through too much, Hermione liked to do her research first and find out all possible outcomes before making a choice, Harry was more like Ginny, jump first worry about where to land later, but he knew Hermione so deeply that he could help her process things her way. She crawled out of bed into the shower, as the hot water poured over her and she ran her hands along her body she realized how touch starved she had become, alone for the last several months. She for the briefest of moments remembered the hand on her face and imagined that hand trailing over her neck and across her collarbones...

Startled at her imagination she shook her head and chastised herself, stupid girl. Exiting the shower and dressing quickly she looked at the clock, it was early enough that Harry won't have left for the Auror's office yet, and would have time to at least have coffee with her. Leaving the front door unlocked, as usual, she disapparated into London.

Apparating into a designated Magical Travel zone, she turned the corner and dashed across the busy street to the high rise that housed the Potter flat. Living in Muggle London was convenient for Harry, he preferred to use the visitor's entrance to the Ministry and it was close to the Portkey site for Ginny to travel to her Quidditch practice pitch. It was quite an adjustment for Ginny, having grown up in a solely magical world, but she was whip-smart and quick to learn. Hermione was always amused watching her pay with muggle money or use her tickets to ride the train around town. Hermione rode the elevator and bounced on her heels with anxious energy. She still felt drained from the last few nights, even though she had rested sufficiently. Her head and her heart were storms as if they reflected the eyes of the man who seemed to see her so clearly the night before.

She knocked lightly on the apartment door and heard a chair scuff against the tile before the door opened. Harry answered and didn't look at all surprised to see her. He smirked and greeted her, "A little later than I expected you, Hermione? Long night?" Hermione glared at the man, almost 40 years old and he still looked like a boy, jet black hair still stuck up every which way, green eyes mixed with amusement and concern. Her friend, her dearest friend. Despite her fondest for him, Hermione glared, "Don't you start Harry, it's been a VERY weird few days." Harry just nodded and ushered her into the flat.

The flat was a nice sized London flat, 4 bedrooms, and plenty of common space. It was a total amalgamation of the two adults that owned it, with definite tell that children were in and out and all about. It felt like The Burrow, cozy and slightly chaotic. A scrub brush was washing the dishes from the morning breakfast and laundry was folding itself in the corner, crocheted afghans draped across more that one piece of furniture and the hearth was already warm with a crackling fire. It was as homey as anything, Weasley comfort, and Harry's need to feel safe and comfortable in his home. She always liked it here. Hermione took to her usual spot at the bar counter where Harry already had tea pour and dressed the way she liked it, just a splash of milk, no sugar. Hermione began, "So I know you read the article about the Holiday Gala, but that article didn't tell the story corr-" Harry cut her off, "Hermione, the prophet just published a redaction. I take it you haven't read that?" Hermione looked puzzled. "No, I hadn't, I came straight over this morning." Harry nodded and tossed the Prophet in her lap. She read.

" _ In response to the previous article regarding Hermione Granger's unfortunate incident at the St. Mungo's Holiday Charity Gala, we at the Daily Prophet would like to post a correction to the statements made by the author. Hermione Granger was the victim of antagonization by a former Dark Lord sympathizer, Pansy Parkinson. There have been multiple reports over the last several years stating that Ms. Parkinson has been more vocal about her Pureblood views and her former support for the cause of Lord Voldemort from the war past. Her actions and words are no longer going to be tolerated by the magical community. A statement from the current Minister for Magic, Hannah Abbott says, "We fought to destroy this ideology 2 decades ago, but the actions of Ms. Parkinson and her associates show us that the battle for fairness and decency continues. I will personally be investigating the situation at hand and working with informants to keep such ideas suppressed. While we want our communities to feel safe and entitled to their thoughts and opinions, we cannot allow this kind of hatred and bigotry to poison the peace we have fought so hard to keep. My heart goes out to my friend Hermione Granger for being forced to relive a terrible experience. We stand with our heroes.”  _

_ A concerned party also reached out to our editors to ensure that Ms. Granger’s name is not besmirched. While the rumors of the divorce of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley are true, their split was on amicable terms. The Granger-Weasley is tending to the health and happiness of themselves and to their children who attend Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. They politely ask for privacy in this and all personal matters.  _

Hermione was impressed. She knew Draco had a contact, and that he could be persuasive. He had managed to get this mystery editor to craft the perfect redaction to the salacious statements of the previous article without directly calling attention to this supposed affair. He had also managed to put Pansy Parkinson in her place, this is most likely what she was so angry at Hermione about. 

She could feel Harry’s eye on her as she read, she looked up. “What do you think Harry?”

Harry sat down, “Well Hermione, first and foremost I want to make sure you’re ok. You apparently took quite a spill and experienced a flashback, I didn’t know you were still having those.” Hermione looked at him from beneath her lashes, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, “Well, I wasn’t. Not for a decade at least. I’m not sure what happened, but something in me went back there, hearing the language she was using. Then when I came to, I was alone in a quiet room with Draco, and I just cracked open. The memory I had Harry was in Malfoy Manor when Bellatrix had me. Draco was there. In that room. He was with me now, going through it all over again in my head.”

Harry looked worried, “I’m so sorry ‘Mione. I know what that’s like. As for Draco, he saved my life that night, in Malfoy Manor. He knew it was me behind that stinging jinx. He didn’t identify me. I think it’s ok for you to be confused about him. You’re an adult Hermione and I won’t ask you anything that you won’t freely offer to me. I’m always on your side.”

Hermione still felt the need to get everything off of her chest. She started with her feelings about Ron going to Romania, about the separation and subsequent divorce. She poured her heart out about her loneliness and anxiety about her empty house. She told Harry about having Draco in a session with her and the feelings that brought up for herself. She didn’t tell Harry about the session specifically, that would have been unethical. She talked about how she hadn’t felt like she’d done enough of the work that she and Dr. Singh had been researching nor was she really implementing their findings in her practice. She felt lost and stuck and with no direction. Then she opened up about what Draco had said to her last night, leaving out the bits about Harry himself. She felt so much lighter when she finally stopped speaking, though that might have been from lack of oxygen. Harry listened intently. Fatherhood had changed Harry in a big way, he became a much more patient man and didn’t interject his own opinions when they weren’t asked for. Hermione had always deduced that Harry was being the father he didn’t get to have. His father figures were so important to him but deeply flawed. He wanted to break the cycle and he had. She always loved watching him be a parent. “Harry, Draco was right about how I diminished me in the past. I felt that there were too many other important things to do to worry about something as trivial as my own happiness. Keeping you alive, fighting in a war, working to put myself in a position to heal people, my marriage, keeping my children happy. Harry, I’m not even sure what I want anymore.”

Harry smiled at her. “Hermione, you talk as if your life is over. You’re still a young vibrant woman with the world at her feet. Ron knows that that has a lot to do with his choice to let you be free. Don’t you see? You’re free now.” Hermione stared at her best friend. The wonder of wonders he even lived to become this wise. Even more absurd is that she would be the one feeling like such a dolt by the words of Harry Potter, the boy who needed to be knocked in the head regularly to keep any sense about him. Harry stood, putting on his work robes, “Now you silly woman, go and get started on that research! It’s only a few months until the kids come back for the summer.” With that he disapparated, leaving Hermione alone in his flat.


	10. Silver Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a theory to test, now he needs to scheme slightly to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have all been so incredibly kind!! Thank you thank you thank you.

Draco spent the next several days deep in his thoughts. Thinking over everything that had happened over the holiday, and of what Hermione had described to him regarding magical mental traumas. She really was onto  something, he didn't think she realized how on the nose she was. Why else would she be muddling through the way she is? Every so often he found himself thinking of her blood on her cheek, the pained expression as she stared at Parkinson. He hadn't even realized his hand reached for her until he made contact. Just the tips of his finger grazing her skin, she was warm and soft. He had been  close enough to smell her. She was sunshine and parchment, with a trace of roses. As Draco listened to her speak for hours yesterday, he realized he did feel affection for her. No sense in denying it, he'd been fighting it in his head for months. If what she described to him was true, she was healing him. His greenhouse had always been an extension of the Malfoy magic. Especially since he began to pay such tender care to the life within. Since she had appeared in his life the color came back. Against all odds, Hermione Granger had sparked life back into him in a way that no one would ever believe. The Manor felt different the last week, less damp, less cold. The fireplaces came to life when he entered a room, something that hasn't happened since Astoria was pregnant and filled with life and joy. His own reflection showed more color in his cheeks, Draco was developing a theory and he wanted to test it. 

Draco had known that the Ministry throws a New Year's Eve party each year, and decided to invite Hermione to be his plus one. As someone who still deals with ministry officials, he always received the invitation but never attended. He knew it was a formality and no one really wanted him there. He needed an excuse to see her again. He needed an excuse to her to into Malfoy Manor, into his greenhouse. 

In the corners and shadows of the ancient Manor house,  Esta moves like a shade. Mister Malfoy rarely notices her, when he  does he's usually pleasant enough. She's watched this slow transformation over the months. At first, his brooding despair was amplified and she witnessed the wallpaper curling slightly at the edges when he moved about. The housekeeper knew the magic of the house very well. She worked with/against it every day to keep as much of the doom and gloom at bay. Whatever event had triggered this increase in Mister Malfoy's brooding and hopeless behavior had been pivotal. Mister Malfoy was probably the most powerful wizard that had resided in these halls in 200 years. His pain and anguish caused even more of a tone of foreboding over the estate as if it mirrored his mental state. In the last weeks,  Esta had noticed new things around the grounds. Small rays of light seeped in at the edges, the tiniest of white flowers worked their way through the cracked in the flagstone, the dinge on the walls in the lowest reaches ebbed away like a tide gone out to sea. She too had been in the greenhouse, she saw the moon lilies spring up, and she watched as the singular yellow rose blossomed, and Mister Malfoy plucked it from its stem. Mister Malfoy was changing, and she wanted to help the young man along, she would scrub and polish, and change all the drapes and curtains and linens. This house had been without light for far too long. 

~~~~

Hermione barely heard the owl tapping at her window on the cold Dec. 31st morning. She had drug out her thesis research on magical mental blocks, a subject that spread out between nearly a dozen magical fields of study. It was a pitiful amount compared to what she had discovered in her practice. The dust had collected and it all outdated and would need to be revised, the sheer amount of work made her want to throw her hands up. 

Opening the window, Hermione didn't recognize the supremely elegant creature before her, but she recognized the perfect tilting handwriting of her name on the envelope. The owl wasn't in a hurry, so she assumed it awaited a reply. Hermione cracked open the Malfoy seal in green and silver wax and found a letter that read:

_ "Hermione, _

_ My sincerest apologies for the way I left our last encounter. It seems seeing you so far fallen from the bold woman of our teenage years struck a nerve. As inexplicable as it seems, I find that you have crossed my mind many times over the last several months, and hearing about your area of study, I have to admit you have sparked curiosity in me. I would like to make up for my rudeness with an invitation to the Ministry's New Years' event. It seemed like your last formal event ended prematurely, and to be honest, you didn't seem to be having the best time as it was. Would you do me this honor of attending with me? I eagerly await your reply. _

_ Yours, _

_ Draco Malfoy" _

Hermione felt a flutter in her abdomen and was overcome with a sudden wide giddy grin. It seemed they were always apologizing to each other for something. Since she had spoken to  Harry she realized that Draco had spent 2 of his evenings listening to her. Really listening, something she never truly experienced. She hadn't been able to get the feel of his fingers on her cheek to leave her mind either. Hermione was reminded of her time with Viktor Krum, she was so young, and it definitely wasn't love, but he paid her attention. He was sweet and rather gentle. Viktor listened to her when she spoke, even though he barely understood a word. The language barrier with the added fact that he wasn't the sharpest quill in the drawer. Despite that, she felt giddy, because she felt special. Draco was starting to make her feel special. 

Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall, it was already 11 am. She needed to buy a gown, and she needed to send the parcel of gifts for her children at Hogwarts. Better get cracking. Hermione scribbled a quick affirmative reply to Draco.

"D-

We really need to stop spending time together under the guise of an apology. Pick me up at 10? 

-H"

It felt a little silly to reply in such a casual manner, but Draco was always so stiff and uptight. She wondered vaguely what he was like when he loosened his tie...

~~~

Draco arrived at her familiar seaside abode at promptly 10 PM. The dress code was black tie, but tuxedos weren't his style. He went with a forest green dress shirt and a black suit. He threw on the tie, just to pretend he at least acknowledged the rules a tiny bit. Draco had a sudden vision of what Hermione looked like in that navy ball gown Christmas Eve, and wondered if he was strong enough. It had been a very long time since he escorted a woman to any event. It had been a very long time since he cared to be in the presence of anyone at all, let alone a woman. To think that some 20 years ago, when he was just 17 years old, he watched a young woman being brutally tortured by his aunt. He had stood there like a scared little boy, obeying his parents, and his master, no matter how much he wanted to rescue his classmate. He did the best he could, the best his fear would let him. Draco knew that it was Harry Potter behind that stinging jinx. How could he not? They had been rivals since they were children, always going to  head to head . Draco lied, and somehow gotten away with it. 

Now he was standing on the doorstep of that young witch, two decades later with a whole lifetime of distance passing between those two moments. Something Draco had realized, pondering the events of the last months, this was his chance to try to convey how sorry he was. For the first time in his life, Draco could try to make an apology. He didn't do that after the war immediately ended. He had spent a short stint in Azkaban, then finished his education in Bulgaria, and then returned to England and assumed his position at Malfoy Manor. He never made statements like his father tried to, he never talked about it again. Just kept his head down. Maybe, after all of this time, he could try to make that apology. A coward's apology. 

Draco reached for the door to knock, but Hermione opened the door just before his knuckles made contact. Like he suspected and feared, she was a vision silver. Whatever material draped from form looked like tiny chainmail and glittered in the light of the street lamps. The way the fabric hung from her frame looked like she was dipped in mercury, she wore a pair of drop earrings that added to the illusion. Her hair was different, sleek and straight, and pull back on one side with a simple silver bar. Her eyes were rimmed in kohl and she looks ....like a sin. 

Hermione took in his dumbfounded expression and blushed scarlet, "Well don't stare, it's just a dress." Draco shook himself and realized he was making her uncomfortable. "Well Granger, it seems you took a page out of the Slytherin fashion guide, I was half expecting something more classic. Either  way, you look stunning." He offered her his elbow as she slipped a black floor-length wool coat over her shoulders. 

~~~

Hermione had gone into a muggle shop in London hoping to find a gown. She was WAY out of her depth. Ginny had helped her pick the navy dress for the Christmas Eve gala. Ginny wasn't an expert either but had gained a little experience attending events with Harry in the early years post-war, that combined with the occasional dinner with Quidditch sponsors and she had a handy leg up on Hermione in the shopping department. Hermione must have tried on half a dozen dresses and nothing seemed fitting. It didn't help that Hermione always felt disconnected from her body. When she was a  teenager she was fighting a war, not worrying about boys and clothes. Her body wasn't really hers back then, it was a vehicle to accomplish her goals, and even  then it suffered great abuse. She remembered being painfully thin, all those months on the run, and hunting Horcruxes left her malnourished and always expending more energy than she could put back in. In the years after she just didn't pay much attention to her body, she was busy with her education. In Hermione's mind, her body just carried her brain around. She never felt particularly desirable or sexual. Sex had been another stipulation of her relationship with Ron and their subsequent marriage, then it led to her beautiful children. She was a vessel then too, used to form two new souls. She did notice all of the ways her body changed post children. She had never been soft, always a little bony. Now, she was all softness and her hips and bust had become curvier. She admitted the change when she realized  everything she owned was far too snug or sat oddly on her frame. Still, there was no connection with her body. So now, she was at a loss how to even look like a proper lady, whatever that meant. Finally, as Hermione nearly gave up and was seriously contemplating just wearing a jumper and jeans, a silver glint caught her eye from the corner of the store. 

She thought she was looking at a pillar of molten metal, pouring over the dress form. Hermione approached the gown in near awe, it was made of something like the most delicate chain mail. The drape was flawless, it moved like liquid and had a weight to it that made it hang just right. The neckline was draped and dipped low, with thin chain straps that connected to the sides, making the back completely open, coming together at a point just below the small of ones back. She asked tentatively to try it on, the shopkeeper, a younger woman with a  nosering lifted an eyebrow at Hermione's shy expression and took it down. Hermione slipped the gown on and it felt as it looked, like quicksilver flowing over her. It glittered in a way that lent its  self less to craft glitter and more like the moonlight on top of the sea. Hermione saw herself for the first time. The dress hugged her flesh and then draped off of her hips to pool at her feet, the subtly rounded train making her seem like a moon spirit. The idea that it was chainmail was appealing as well. As if she were clad in her own sort of armor. This was a feeling she thought she might need tonight. The price tag was steep but manageable. Hermione was frugal and Ron never needed much to be happy, so she had a hefty little nest egg that she could dip into and still replenish without much upheaval. She made her purchase and exited the shop, excited to ring in the New Year as a new woman.

Hermione donned her new gown and attempted to do something with her hair. Those untamable curls just took away from the sleek gown, so with a wave of her wand she magically flattened it and pinned it back on one side, to show off a pair of her mother's earrings. They were simple silver teardrops, a remnant of the 70's disco era she assumed but loved them nonetheless. Hermione started to apply her makeup and at first, was going to go modest, but thought, hell, I'm already in the deep end, might as well swim. 

Hermione was ready several minutes before Draco's arrival. Hermione always timed these things out perfectly, some of her latent neurosis. She didn't like to make someone wait for her. She needed some air, grabbing her long coat, she opened the front door and Draco was standing there, arm outstretched. His eyes met hers briefly before traveling downward, slightly slack-jawed, Hermione felt suddenly exposed and wanted to say something witty, take back the moment for herself. Her cheeks flushed red and she could feel the heat rising from her face. All she could think of was, "Well don't stare. It's just a dress." She kicked herself for not being able to provide witty banter. She took the smallest pause them to notice the man in front of her. Even in her incredibly high strappy heels, he was a head taller than her. He was lean and strong, He looked like a snowstorm wrapped in evergreens. His pale face held a little pink from the cold, the moonlight flashed from his nearly white-blonde hair, cut close on the sides, and longer on top. His deep forest green shirt and the black suit was such a strong contrast it was almost shocking. His lips were slightly parted in surprise full, but not so much that they were out of place on his angled face. He was a very attractive wizard. The killer detail was always those piercing eyes, with the storms that raged behind his pale irises. 

Draco said something that she barely heard before extending his elbow in an almost absurdly gentlemanly manner. She guessed pureblood breeding came with etiquette lessons. Hermione slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and with a hard tug behind her navel, they disappeared into the night.


	11. New Year's Eve Encounters

Draco and Hermione arrived at the Ministry of Magic fashionably late by design. As they entered the halls, loud music blared from unseen sources. The ministry spared no expense for New Years'. Something changed after the war and parties became more and more full of fanfare. The Wizarding World had never stopped celebrating. Massive towers of champagne flutes peppered the impressively sized space, with a constant fountain of bubbly washing over the glasses, tinkling slightly as they swayed almost imperceptibly. Golden streamers danced about far overhead, tumbling, twirling, and spinning in and out of different shapes. The ceiling was bewitched to show a swirling galaxy of stars, a comet streaked across the facade as the stars glittered and twinkled. Acrobats were swerving around the room on unicycles, doing flips and tumbles, and offering salacious compliments to the women in the room. Trays floated around the room with appetizers, riding tiny tidal waves that left no trail of water behind them. Draco smirked. Surely this was enough distraction.  
Draco anticipated that if they arrived after the party was well underway, they could blend in better, hoping that many would already be too engaged in the festivities to pay any newcomer's attention. Draco was incorrect. This would have been a solid plan but Granger had worn THAT dress. She glided into the grand foyer, hand still tucked delicately into the crook of his elbow. At first, they went unnoticed, until one witch caught sight of them and gasped audibly. Slowly those closest to them turned to see what new spectacle had arrived for them to ogle at. Instead, they were faced with the darling of The Second Wizarding war and the former Death Eater, arm in arm.   
Draco cursed under his breath, "Fuck Hermione, I am sorry. If this is a bad idea, we can just leave. Your call." Hermione studied his face with those amber eyes beneath dark lashes. She sighed, "Well, we're here now, and this dress cost me a pretty penny, might as well get my money's worth." Draco marveled at her for a moment. There's the fire, the Gryffindor bravery, but with her poise and shrewd attitude about the dress, she could have been a Slytherin. "Alright, champagne?" She grinning and nodded, he led her through the room and the whispers with a hand at the small of her back. Using his wand, tucked into his jacket pocket, he summoned two flutes from the top of the nearest tower. The looks and whispers persisted, Draco stood back straight and gave his best Death Eater glare to the room. The protective stance and menacing glare were enough to at least avert the majority of the stares.  
Classic jazz tunes streamed through the room, this one was an upbeat number, with bouncing notes that ebbed and flowed through the room. Draco extended his hand and leaned in so Hermione could hear him, "Care to dance Granger?". Hermione's eyes flashed up at hearing her surname, but the mischievous smirk reflected the jest in the name. She took his hand as he led her to the dance floor. They were a decent distance apart, his hand high on her waist, the nature of her dress had his fingertips grazing her bare skin. His right hand clasped her left and he spun her around the room. Years of forced dance lessons during his summers home had prepared him for almost anything. What it didn't prepare him for was her. After a couple of songs, the tempo changed dramatically. The rhythm slowed and the mood was more subdued. He didn't know this tune, but the lyrics would stay with him forever...  
_Wise men say, "Only fools rush in"._  
_But I can't help falling in love with you._  
It would seem an insult to separate at the beginning of such an intimate song, but he wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Before he could even formulate a plan to escape, Hermione had stepped closer to him, their bodies coming into contact. She kept her shoulders pulled back slightly, sliding her right hand up his arm to the back of his left shoulder. He moved automatically now, all thoughts in his mind gone at the increase in contact. His left arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her slightly closer, their other hands still clasped together. It was a natural enough dancing position, but an intimate one. He was much taller than she and instead of craning her neck to look up at him, she let her gaze settle over his shoulder, her temple just grazing the side of his jaw. They moved with the music, making slow lazy circles. Time stretched and expanded. He could feel her in his arms, warm, soft, but there was strength there. He remembered her as a young girl, screaming and trembling on the floor of his Manor, and pulled her in imperceptibly tighter. Hermione was tense for a moment, then let out the smallest breath, almost a sigh, and sank deeper into the dance, tilting her head ever so slightly into his neck. She heard her breathe deeply and allow him to lead her in this dance. She was relaxed in his arms. She didn't find him a threat. She trusted him completely, at least at this moment.   
What seemed both an eternity and mere moments later, the songs ended and trailed off. Hermione seemed to tense slightly and slid from his arms. The void she left when she retreated felt like being doused with ice water. Hermione looked up at him and smiled weakly, "That was lovely." Her words were barely a whisper. She turned and gathered herself another glass of champagne. Draco didn't follow her, he could feel like she needed space, he certainly needed a moment to collect himself.  
~~~  
Hermione's heart had been hammering in her chest. Dancing with Draco was one thing, but THAT. She had been married for a long time and never felt so close to someone. The song didn't help matters. It was a muggle tune, Elvis Presley. She had grown up with those records, her parents played through more than one copy on an old gramophone. She had grown up watching her parents dance to that song late at night when they thought she was long asleep. That song was tangled up with so much for her. Love, romance, comfort, home, and during the war it gave her a deep heartache. She listened to that record often when she modified her parents' memories and hid them from Voldemort in Australia. After that, she had never been able to reclaim the good feelings it used to bring her, until just moments ago. She needed some air, she looked up and smiled at Draco, she didn't want to be rude or give him a message that dancing with him wasn't welcomed and wonderful. As usual, Hermione had a million thoughts rushing through her mind.  
Hermione tried not to rush off, she didn't want to alarm the man. She stopped and calmly took a glass of chilled champagne, and holding the train of her gown in one hand, stepped out onto a small terrace overlooking the courtyard. She took a long pull from her glass and took a moment to appreciate the icy January air on her heated skin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back and tried to sort through everything she was feeling.  
Hermione was still feeling the sting of her divorce. Twenty years sharing a bed with one man can't be done overnight, no matter amicable the split. No one had been that close to her physically other than Ron. Draco felt foreign to her. He was a completely different creature than anyone she had ever known. He was at once dark and dangerous, his eyes could rage like a thunderstorm, but when she was just in his arms, he felt like rock steady, and gave her security. He smelled like sin. Deep and musky, sandalwood and ink, and something else she couldn't place but also couldn't get enough of.   
Those were just her personal feelings. She couldn't even begin to think of the social implications. Not that it really mattered to her, but the slap to the Weasley's, and Harry. Here she was, folding herself in the arms of a man who nearly killed Albus Dumbledore, who single-handedly repaired the cabinet that allowed all of those Death Eaters into the castle to murder so many that she knew and loved. Her moral compass was so turned around, she didn't know which was up. The pacing of this whole thing had her reeling too. With Ron, she had grown into loving him since they were eleven. It was years of getting to know one another and then battling side by side. This was a sudden dunk in cold water. The moment he walked into her office, something inside her changed. Like something was stuck in her gears and suddenly sprang loose. Her inner workings coming back together. Draco had been right on Christmas night. She had lived her life asleep. Tonight she felt wide awake. It felt nearly too much to bear. She felt someone behind her and just as she started to turn, thinking Draco had come to check on her, a blinding pain struck her in the jaw.  
~~~~  
Draco heard a small commotion from across the room and looked upon instinct. He had to watch Hermione step out onto the terrace, he wanted to give her space but also felt protective of her and wanted to know where she was. A small crowd gathered near the doorway and he sprinted across the marbled floors, heart hammering in his chest. There he saw Hermione and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione stood for a moment in shock, Parkinson had punched her in the jaw, a small dribble of blood gathered on Hermione's chin. Parkinson lept at the smaller woman and Draco dove forward. He didn't have to. He watched a rage fill Hermione's vision and in a split second Hermione had pulled her wand from SOMEWHERE in that gown of hers and slammed Parkinson against the wall of the building, her forearm on the woman's throat, choking her, wand poised in the middle of her forehead. "Let's get one thing straight her Pansy, you are messing with the wrong witch.", Hermione's words came hissing from between her teeth. "I have killed witches and wizards stronger and smarter with you without breaking a sweat. What you have done to yourself is your problem, not mine. You might have seen me falter and give to my pain but do not make the mistake of taking that for weakness. If I see you anywhere near me or Draco I will kill you before you can take your next breath."  
Draco approached the witches slowly, catching sight of an Auror standing by. "You and I will have a chat later about how in the fuck Parkinson made inside the Ministry doors while being investigated. Mark me.", Draco's words made the Auror blanch. Hermione was still locked eye to eye with the now terrified Parkinson, wand still gripped in a tight fist. Draco slowly reached out and took her wand, then gently took her arm and led her from the terrace and back into the grand foyer. Hermione allowed herself to be led away but once inside she ripped her arms from him and fumed down a side corridor. Draco followed her, she had tucked herself into a stone alcove, holding her head in her hands. As he approached her she shoulders were shaking, at first it looked as though Hermione was crying. As Draco drew nearer he realized with the confusion that she was laughing. This woman was terrifying. He realized it thrilled him.  
"Hermione, are you ok? You're bleeding.", Draco's tone was cautious as he reached for her chin to inspect her jaw. Her eyes were filled with fire and mirth. She looked up at him with those honey-colored eyes, they flecked with gold when she was laughing. "That stupid bitch! Did she really think that I would just let her keep coming for me? She has fucked up her life so bad and she coming after me for it. I'm serious Draco, if Magical Law Enforcement doesn't deal with her I'll kill her. I'm done.". Her tone was so deadly serious it was shocking. This was the woman who went to war. No wonder good one out. They had Hermione Granger leading the charge.   
Draco looked at her and nodded. They locked eyes, her chest was heaving from the adrenaline. Hermione's hair had come loose and spilled over her shoulder, framing her in bronze. Something inside of Draco snapped at that moment and he descended upon her, she met him, mouth open, hands grasping. They collided hard, he pushed Hermione deeper into the alcove, they wouldn't be seen if someone peeked down the hall. Her hands grasped his shirt, his grabbed fistfuls of hair, and tilted her head up to deepen the angle of their kiss. Her mouth was hot and sweet. He slid his tongue over hers and tasted her blood on her lips. Merlin, she tasted wonderful, like the sunshine and french pastries. He was drinking her in like a sailor lost at sea, gulping down his first mouthful of freshwater.   
Hermione made little sounds in the back of her throat, breathy and desperate. She was burning hot, her fingers searing a little trail across his chest and around his sides. She grasped fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him tighter against her. Draco growled deep in his throat and bent to lift her armored dress, breaking the kiss only briefly as he knelt to take hold of her upper thighs, and settle his body between them, perching her on the window sill. He took that moment to look at her, perfect legs on either side of his hips, the moonlight pouring into the alcove, backlighting this fiery warrior woman, giving her a halo. She looked angelic and sinful all at once. It was intoxicating. She broke through his admiration of her with a firm pull of his tie, he didn't need any more encouragement. Draco devoured her, clutching at her desperately. He felt like he wanted to crawl inside of her. Feel this kind of warmth forever.   
Hermione's hand stayed at his tie and jerked it open, she ripped open his shirt and slide her warm hands up his chest and across his collar bones, her thumbs brushing the pulse points on each side of his neck. She slid the garment from his shoulders and he removed his hands from her skin only long enough to let it drop to the floor before returning the favor. Draco's hands slid each strap in turn from her shoulders, he bent his head to follow his fingers, leaving hot wet kisses in their wake. He trailed back up her shoulders and bit down a little right below her ear, she moaned in pleasure at the ache it left behind. Hermione pushed him back and stood, allowing the dress made of molten metal to fall to the floor. He didn't take any time to look at her naked in front of him. Immediately lifted her back up on the sill and bent himself to take a nipple into his mouth, her fingers clutching his hair as he swirled the hard bud with his tongue, leaving little nips behind as he treated the other breast to the same attention. Hermione pulled him back up for another searing kiss. Her devilish hands unbuckled his belt and pushed his trousers around his knees, freeing his aching manhood. She took him in her hand and his eyes rolled back in his head, dropping his head to her shoulders. He couldn't take it a moment longer.  
Draco removed her hands and placed them around his neck, lifting her by her perfectly soft ass he kissed her deeply and drove himself into her. She gasped, and they both froze in the moment, feeling each other in this way for the first time. Hermione's hips began to gyrate against his and he growled and pulled out, just to dive in deeper. They moved together in a frenzied rhythm, sweat rising from their skin. The sounds she made were delicious. Each thrust brought a new little pant, or moan, or sigh. Her breathing was starting to quicken. Draco didn't think he would make it to see her climax, that wouldn't do at all. Draco separated slightly to slip his hand between their bodies, and while kissing her deeply, tracing small circles around the bundle of nerves where they were joined. She was hot, slick, and swollen and Draco thought he'd die right there from the pleasure. His own release building, he quicked his tracing ever so slightly. Hermione pulled her mouth away and placed her head on his shoulder, her breathing was growing more rapid and gasping. Finally, Her whole body frozen and her legs quivered. Draco felt her inner walls spasming around his cock, Hermione bit down on his shoulder to stifle her sounds of release and that was his undoing. Three final jerky thrusts and his brain exploded. Lights flashed behind his eyelids and he moaned her name into her ear.   
Draco held her there for a moment, not wanting to leave the warmth of her womanhood. Hermione squirmed slightly and reluctantly, they parted. He looked at her now, stark naked in the moonlight, her skin shining with sweat, face flushed from her orgasm. "Hermione Granger, you are the most remarkable woman I will ever know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so terrifying and scary to write! Honestly this story wasn't supposed to be this long but I was just scared of that first kiss. I hope you like it!


	12. The Experiment

Hermione bent to lift her gown from the floor. So many things had been swirling around in her mind, but now, her mind was quiet, her legs were shaky, and Draco was standing in front of her, stark naked. She said nothing for a moment as she slipped her dress back on, now that her logic was coming back here, they were in a hallway alcove, not the most private of places. Once the quicksilver gown settled on her frame she looked up at Draco. He had put his trousers and shirt back on but left it unbuttoned. She studied him for a moment, finally getting to see the man, tie undone. Finally, she spoke, "People have always underestimated you, haven't they?" Her words were quiet, steady, and serious. Draco looked confused. Hermione understood why; he had just given her the best damn shag of her life and then gave her words of such affirmation as she had never heard. Hermione felt a little guilty. Then again, Draco Malfoy had been praised by his parents his whole life. Maybe, just maybe, what this man needed was to be seen for who he is, and not as some ideal pureblood Malfoy, or former war criminal. Draco sighed and buttoned his shirt, he collected his tie from the floor where it was previously discarded and began to tie it. Hermione reached out her hand and stopped him, "Leave it. I like this devil may care Malfoy." Draco smirked at her, immediate relief washing over his features. Hopefully he realized that she wasn't being cold. Just affectionate in her own way. He reached out and gathered her small frame in his arms and kissed her. This time, the kiss was so soft and tender, Hermione felt her heart-melting. He pulled his face back to look into her eyes and said, "Hermione, there is something I need you to see." Hermione's brow knit together in concern. Draco addressed her worry, "Nothing bad, just, important. Plus, after the show, you put on with Parkinson, and our....disheveled appearance, I'm sure we've both overstayed our welcome." Hermione laughed, "Yes I suppose you're right. Where are we going then?" She trusted him to keep her safe, even though, tonight she had remembered that she didn't NEED anyone to keep her safe, she was powerful enough to protect herself.   
Draco looked at her intensely, "I need to show you something at Malfoy Manor." His expression was one of seriousness and laced with concern. A cold wash of fear poured over her. She wasn't expecting to feel that way. The last time she had set foot in Malfoy Manor, was when she was taken prisoner and tortured when they were looking for Harry. The terror must have been painted all over her face, because Draco took her hands, "Hermione, I know it won't be easy for you, but I have to show you this. I have to. You'll be safe. It's just me there now, and the housekeeper Esta. She's a kind woman, you'll like her." Hermione felt unsure. That place was cold, dark, and radiated with dark magic. She remembered feeling the darkness vibrating in her bones, there was a constant feeling that somewhere deep in the manor, someone was always screaming. "Draco...I...I don't think I can."  
Draco hung his head for a moment. Hermione could feel the weight of his past sitting on his broad shoulders, he looked for a moment like a young boy again, faced with the pressure of his name, and his father's allegiances. It broke her heart. Tonight she had seen the kind of man he could have been, a lighthearted man who could have fun, a protector, and a lover. So much was stolen from him and he never got to find his own potential. She lifted his chin to meet her gaze. "I'll go, but if I can't handle it, you have to let me go." Those words were meant more for just tonight, she knew it, and something in his eyes said he knew it too. He nodded, and kissed her deeply, sealing the promise. When Hermione opened her eyes, she was at the gate of Malfoy Manor.   
The hour was late, but they hadn't passed midnight yet, she didn't think. The moon hung overhead and lit up the grounds sprawling in front of her. The ground was covered in a deep and pristine blanket of snow. A winter chill fell over her bare shoulders, they hadn't gotten their coats. "Draco, why not take us inside? It's freezing." Draco didn't look at her but stared up at the edifice that seemed to stare back. "I wanted you to see how peaceful it is now, over the years I've been purging it of dark artifacts. You can feel a difference in the house's magic." Hermione looked away from him and back up at the elegant manor. He was right, it felt different. She noticed as soon as they had apparated, but couldn't put a finger on it until he mentioned the peacefulness. Draco pulled his wand from his coat and conjured a carriage, it was a long hike through the grounds to the front doors, neither dressed to trek through the front gardens. He extended his hand to help her into the Rococo era carriage, pulled by unseen magic, and jumped inside himself. They rode in silence for a surprisingly long time. Hermione watched the structure ahead growing closer, and much larger. "Draco, you live here all alone?"   
He shrugged his broad shoulders, "Well most of the time, Scorpius is at Hogwarts as you know, and Astoria died several years ago. So it's just me." Hermione, was quiet again for a moment, "Have you ever thought to leave? This place is just, it's too big for just you." Draco didn't answer. She knew why, he didn't think he could go anywhere else, he didn't think he deserved better than to be forever lonely and isolated. The carriage pulled into the middle of a circular driveway and the doors popped open, Draco assisting her out of her seat. Always the gentleman. They paused at the grand doors, taking a deep breath before following him inside.  
~~~~  
Draco knew this would be hard for her. She needed to see this though, she needed to see the moon lilies, the color she brought to his life. Especially with her study in magical mental health. They crossed into the foyer, a fire roared to life in the fireplace in the center of the room, lighting the marbled floors. Two swooping staircases framed the room, to an outsider, it probably seemed ridiculous. They passed through a den in the east wing, again a fire roared to life...this had been happening for a week now; before the rooms stayed dark and cold. Draco took her hand, she looked fearful, "Hermione, the house knows you're here, it's trying to make you feel welcome." She gave him a painfully sweet and shy smile. He led her through the house, watching her from the corner of his eye, she started to relax the tiniest bit. Finally, Draco paused outside of the greenhouse. The glass doors were shrouded in heavy drapery, that was his sanctuary, for no one else's eyes, though he highly suspected Esta snuck in to clean the glass, he knew he never cleaned it himself. Draco reached out and pulled a large tasseled rope and the drapes drew back. He opened the door and entered the room. The air was slightly damp and smelled of earth and moss. Something sweet lingered in the air, barely drifting through the space. Draco guided her into the center of the room, holding both of her hands in his. She looked positively confused. "Draco, I don't understand, this is lovely and all, but why would you bring me to a greenhouse?" Draco pointed over her shoulder, see that small flash of white, those moon lilies started blooming after I first saw you again in Dr. Singh's office. She remained confused. Draco continued.  
"You see, this place was Astoria's project, she grew beautiful flowers that she cut and spread all over the manor. She took such tender care of everything in this place. When she died, so did everything else. Not long after her passing, I took over, I don't use magic in here Hermione, this is my place to be human. I poured all of my pain and anger into the soil and it yielding only dark and gloomy results. Deep green and black leaves, all flourishing, but nothing bright, it wasn't a happy place." Hermione moved about the room as he spoke, brushing her fingers along the foliage. "I think it's lovely, you can feel the melancholy." Draco nodded and continued, "Five years of this Hermione, then you dropped back into my world, and then...white moon lilies. The night of Christmas Eve, I came here to dig in the dirt, expend some of my anger at Parkinson, and my anger at you, for making me care about you even then. Then I saw the single yellow rose, shining in the corner like a lantern." Draco led Hermione to another corner of the massive room, there a rose bush with a single yellow rose stood. "I gave you the first one, this was here when I returned." Hermione turned her honey-colored eyes toward his. "Hermione, you brought light back into my miserably dark existence. The life returned to me, my magic started to allow the light in, probably for the first time. The house feels it. It's warmer here, the hearth's light themselves, the air smells like you, of sunshine and hope. The magic here is ancient, and I can't explain how it all works. No one alive can. You posited that mental trauma can affect one's magic. Hermione, you're fixing my magic, you're bringing my mind back from the brink."   
Hermione's eyes filled with tears. He couldn't discern her expression. She reached up for him, placing a hand on his cheek, the other wrapped around his waist as she studied his features. Draco turned his face into her touch and placed a feather-light kiss on her open palm. He looked back at her warm eyes and leaned down and took her lips, pouring everything he was feeling into kissing her. The clock tower outside struck 12, they were lost in each other then, locked in and embrace, mouths working to convey everything that was pent up. When the bells stopped echoing, they opened their eyes together, Hermione gasped, the room had exploded in color. Vibrant reds, yellows, and pink filled the room, from floor to ceiling. The vines that tangled themselves in the latticework high above their heads were bursting with purple wisteria. The fragrance was nearly dizzying.   
Draco's experiment had worked. He knew it would. She was the key. She was saving him. Hermione Granger had burst him wide open. He didn't look around the room, he knew what had happened. He just watched her, hand covering her gasp, as she moved about and marveled at the dazzling spectacle. There were twinkling lights all over the room. Fairies. They had always lived there, hidden in the shadows, now they too felt the magic change, and were celebrating and dancing. Hermione held out her hand to one, it danced and preened itself on her palm, loving the long lost attention. It giggled buzzed up to play in Hermione's hair. Hermione laughed. That sound. Draco had never heard anything more beautiful.


	13. Coming Clean

Hermione woke as dawn began to shine in through the glass of the Malfoy greenhouse. She and Draco had fallen asleep on the chaise lounge just outside of the glass room. The heavy burgundy drapes had been pulled back so they could watch the flowers blossom and the fairies dance in the moonlight streaming in from above. She had never seen or experienced anything so beautiful. As her eyes fluttered open she sleepily became aware of her surroundings. Without moving she took stock, Draco was beneath her, warm and breathing deeply, his heartbeat drummed steadily in his chest. They hadn't slept together again, she was wearing his sport jacket and her chainlink gown still. Draco just looked at her while she stared at the splendor of the greenhouse. The implications were not lost on her. At points, she barely registered Draco sitting near her on the lounge chair, as her researching mind took over. If what he had told her were indeed true (she would need more anecdotal evidence when was tenuous at best) this could be a real result that maybe she could replicate under more controlled conditions. Hermione's mind raced into the wee hours of the night, finding another person who was so fundamentally broken down as Draco would be a challenge, his life and experiences had created a unique set of mental blocks and complexes. 

Hermione wasn't sure when they had fallen asleep, she remembered Draco pulling her out of her mental gymnastics. His hand was warm when he took hers, hands so large they completely enveloped hers in her lap. He pulled her to his chest at that moment and they lay, listening to the fairies as they danced and giggled, frolicking in the flowers. Hermione hadn't said anything regarding his sentiment that she was mending him. It was a huge thing, one that she needed time to process. Things have been such a whirlwind between them, only coming to a head a few hours before. Hermione needed time to collect her thoughts when she wasn't distracted by his lean form or the longing in his icy eyes.  


She ever so slowly extricated herself from his arms, carefully and soundlessly pulling herself upright to stand. Even with the hearths all lit, there was a chill in the stoney house. Old manors were built to retain heat so well. She wasn't ready to go home yet, afraid to break whatever spell had washed over them. Instead, she walked about the seemingly empty house. Poking her head in rooms and studying the portraits on the wall. She somehow found her way into the kitchens, through no decisive planning of her own. There she found a steaming pot of tea, cream and sugar, and several slices of toast with butter and jam. Her face flushed a bit, she knew he had a housekeeper, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if their private bubble had been broken by an accidental passerby. Despite this, she tucked in, she was starving. 

  
Hermione was diving into her second bite of toast smeared with jam when she heard footsteps, Draco appeared in the doorway, smile playing in the corners of his mouth. He leaned against the archway, arms folded over, just watching. Hermione swallowed the mouthful of bread, "Tea?" Draco walked closer and nodded, picking up her cup and draining it. He turned to her then, hands on either side of her hips, then he ran a hand over her hair. "I like it better wild, like you." Hermione's head spun at his touch, all sanity leaving him. He took her hand and walked her out of the kitchen, and up to one of the swirling staircases to a giant bathroom. The marble tiles gleamed white and pristine. Hermione's eyes were nearly blinded by the brightness of the room. She felt Draco's hands on her shoulders then, standing behind her. He removed his jacket from her shoulders, sending a shiver up her spine. With a wave of his wand, the shower turned on and steam began to fill the room. His hands traced the curve of her ear, down her neck, and across to the tip of her shoulder. His lips were near her ear now, "You have exquisite skin." Another shiver ran through her. He slid the straps of the metal gown over her shoulders and it slinked heavily to the floor. Draco guided her to the shower and opened the door for her. Hermione's mind felt as hazy at the steamy mirrors. She was standing naked before him, he was fully dressed from the night before. His eyes met hers, and his head dipped to kiss at her clavicle, the touch shooting electricity to her toes. She in turn started popping his buttons free, slowly, taking the time to marvel at each new piece of flesh revealed to her. Hermione had flashed to the night before in the alcove, it had been so fast, so desperate. Never in her life had she had her hands on a man so perfectly formed. 

  
As her hand worked he brushed his fingertips over her arms and up her sides. Finally, Hermione reached his trousers and her hands were trembling with the anticipation. Undoing the buckle and sliding his pants down along with his underwear, his manhood sprang free. She heard him his in relief, the pressure finally easing slightly. Hermione straightened herself, and he guided her into the searing heat of the glass shower. They faced each other, the water falling from directly overhead, streaming in rivulets over their naked frames. Draco clearly was in no hurry, and neither was she. He tilted her head up and he sank lower into a kiss that was at once tender and passionate; tongues dancing together lazily. Draco broke the kiss and Hermione felt a tiny bit of anguish at the disconnection. Draco turned her so her back was against his chest. She felt so small compared to him. She noticed how he wasn't hulking, he was lean and well defined, feeling like marble against her skin. His hands reached for a bar of soap and he began running it up her arms and across her chest, paying more attention her to breasts than was strictly necessary for cleanliness. As he passed across her skin with the slick soap, he'd drag a fingernail over her nipples, making her exhale in bliss. Draco took tender care in washing her, and she felt as if he was washing away every bad feeling she'd ever had. Hermione felt like a prized possession in his hands, he treated her body like a piece of fine porcelain, delicate and fragile. Draco's hands came up and gathered her rapidly recurling hair over her shoulder; running the bar of soap over her back and neck. Placing the soap on a shelf, his hands began to massage the muscles in her neck. He used his thumbs to push in circles and work out the tension that always settled there. He worked down her spine and when he reached her lower back, she couldn't help but moan in pleasure.   


Hermione couldn't remember a time when anyone had spent this much time tending to her, just paying attention to her body and treating her like something precious. When she felt especially like jelly, Draco turned her and rinsed the slick soap from her back and front, and then guided her again to the small bench in the shower. He showed just as much care to her legs, kneading out the tension of high heels in her calves, digging into the muscle, and pulling out any pain. Hermione opened her eyes at last, having reveled in the ministrations of this stunning creature, and was struck by the visage in front of her and nearly laughed. There before her eyes was Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, her childhood bully, and bane of a teenage Harry Potter's existence, on his knees before her, worshipping her feet. If teenage Malfoy could see the man he would become he wouldn't believe it. Naked and prostrate at the feet of a Mudblood, naked and aroused. Hermione was in awe. She stood and took Draco by the shoulders, sliding her body against his and kissing him with all of the fervor she could manage. All of the restraint Draco was holding back was unleashed and he crushed her mouth with his, teeth crashing together and his hands buried deep within her hair. Draco broke the kiss and whispered in her ear, "I've been wanting to taste you for weeks, Hermione". She looked into his eyes, and a smile grew at the corners of her mouth. The grin was wiped away when he dropped to his knees, placing kisses across her breasts and down her abdomen. Draco lifted her foot and placed it on the bench and dove in. His tongue made swirling circles around her bundle of nerves before diving deep into her core. Hermione saw stars and her eyes rolled back in her head. She threw her head back and gasped at every thrust of his tongue, his hands massaging her thighs. Her hands curled into his sopping wet hair and Draco let out a groan when she closed her fists, pulling his face closer to her body. She lost herself under the hot water, grinding her hips against his face. Draco went back to her clit and used the flat of his tongue to wash over her again and again. He inserted two fingers into her hot center and ran them against her sensitive G-spot until her legs were shaking beneath him. It didn't take long after that for breathing to quicken. Draco kept his pace steady, Hermione riding his face and fingers until her release crashed over them both like a tidal wave, fireworks exploding in her vision. She moaned loudly and held him in place as the last aftershock caused her legs to twitch violently.

  
Hermione could barely stand, leaning heavily against Draco's body as he stood before her once more. Hermione looked into his eyes, that storm raging behind them. "Holy fuck, Hermione." He whispered. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. It was slick, and slightly salty, the taste of herself on him making her hot all over again. Draco bent and picked her up with a large hand on each ass cheek, pushing her back against the cool marble. With one deft stroke, he buried his shaft completely into her still pulsing core. Slowly and torturously he moved within her, maintaining intense eye contact. Hermione's arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist. She surrounded him entirely, yet it still wasn't enough contact. She wanted to crawl inside his skin, safe and warm. Hermione pulled him tighter to herself, taking his earlobe between her teeth and biting down gently. Draco growled and his pace quickened until he was pounding into her. He held her by her ass as his strokes became slightly more urgent and erratic, with a final thrust, he shuddered and spilled himself deep inside her, moaning her name as he climaxed.   
They stayed entwined for several moments before he gently let her legs slide back to the floor, they barely held her up. His cock slid from her center and she nearly cried out at the emptiness he left behind. He belonged there, with her, inside of her.   
~~~  
Draco couldn't explain was he was thinking and feeling. Hermione unlocked something deep inside of his the night before. After their very steamy shower, he gave her sweatpants and a t-shirt and she snoozed contentedly in his bed. He sat in an armchair and watched her, lost in his thoughts. The fire roaring in the hearth as he watched the winter sunshine play over her face. He had to tell her everything. He was so afraid that some part of her held some resentment for his past. He crossed the room and crawled under the blankets with her. She shifted and her eyes fluttered open. Her small frame curled into his chest and he held her like a prize. "Hermione." He whispered. Her sleepy honey-colored eyes turned up to his. "I never actually hated Potter in school, or you if I'm truly honest." Hermione's brow furrowed and she sat up, looking at him quizzically. Draco continued, "Potter was a right git, don't get me wrong, and you were really annoying. Given all of that, I didn't want you dead. I didn't want anything that happened to happen." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, he shushed her, "Let me get this out. There's no excuse for the horrible things I allowed myself to do, to say, or to believe. I knew better. I had known you, and Potter, and everyone since we were eleven years old. Blood purity was all I knew, all I heard about until I got to Hogwarts. I always thought that Mudbl...muggle-borns would be disgusting trolls, meant to be eradicated. Then I met you, everyone else of 'lower-birth'." Draco used air quotes here, hopefully, to soften the term. He saw Hermione's eyes flash, but he pressed on. "You were all so normal, and many of you better at magic than I, it messed with my head. I questioned everything I had ever known to be true. That first summer was really hard. I took my questions to my parents, they were the only truth I knew then, and they pounded into my head that you were dirty. My father was incensed that I hadn't befriended Potter, the original idea was that Harry Potter would be the next great Dark Wizard, especially after second year when it came out that he was a Parselmouth. None of the dark side really thought Voldemort could be reborn. They were lost without an evil leader. Hermione, I let myself be used as a pawn. I was disposable to Voldemort, and to a degree, my father. I watched on the sidelines for a long time, until Voldemort realized he could use me to kill Dumbledore. The Dark Lord sensed by doubt in his cause and moved to entrench me in his plans. I didn't want to do it...Hermione. I was a coward and feared for my life. I should have been brave, but I was weak and allowed it all to happen. It was when I watched my aunt torture you, that something inside me snapped. I didn't like you at all, especially after you punched me in the face third year, but I had known you. We had classes together, we had grown up together. It all felt very close to home then, that no one was safe. Yet still, I stood by and did nothing. When my aunt and father asked me to identify Potter, I couldn't. I had a thought that if I did this one thing, this one act of defiance, maybe my soul would survive. Maybe I could ride this out and leave England and feel like I had done SOMETHING."  


Draco's hands and curled into fists so tight, he could feel his nails cutting half-moons into his palms. He jaw clenched and he proceeded through gritted teeth, staring straight ahead. Apparently, I had done something right. Potter saved me when the Room of Requirement was ablaze. That stung what was left of my ego, I already felt like the lowest of the lower, having taken the mark. Then to have Saint Potter save my life. I thought, maybe he'll pull it off, and this evil can be vanquished. Voldemort returned from the Forbidden Forest, with Hagrid carrying Potter's body. All hope was gone. I thought for a moment to stay and try to fight with the school. My father and mother, pleading with me to go with them. I needed comfort, they were all I had left, it was either die with a school that hated me, or maybe live, as a pawn for Voldemort, but at least I'd have my family. I joined them, I chose wrong. Hermione, you have to know that I know I made all of the wrong choices. Every single one. Then Potter crashed to the ground, alive. I couldn't believe it, he was wandless, and my mind flipped instantly. You know what happened next. You were there. In my mind, Potter was the same as he was to so many of you. Our only hope, MY only hope."   


Draco finished his diatribe and slumped back against the headboard, feeling utterly defeated. He hadn't thought about any of this in so long, and the effort to put it out in the open left him feeling drained and small. Hermione sat looking at him, he could see the gears in her head working overtime. He remembered the expression from school when she was working out a problem in class. Her brain was making connections so fast, it was almost as if he could see lights flashing behind her eyes. Hermione just took his hands in his, and with her next words, healed his soul in a way that no amount of time ever had, "Draco, we were children with the world placed on our shoulders. Nothing was fair." A feeling of relief so great washed over him and he sunk back into the pillows, Hermione pressing her head into his chest. He felt so exhausted. His brain shut down as he smelled the sunshine in her damp hair and felt her warm body pressed against his. Maybe he would be okay after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if my HP timeline is a little off, I haven't had the time to double check myself. This scene has been in my brain for days and I needed to get it out. Thank you so much for the love!


	14. The Admission

Hermione had spent several days in a state of suspended animation. She left Malfoy Manor in a dream-like state of euphoria that made apparition difficult, barely making it home. The seaside house didn't feel much like home these days. It was a place that left her feeling empty now. It was once full of children, laughter, and compromise. Now, it was a reminder of what was. She wasn't prepared for all of this. Hermione remembered sitting down with her parents right before Rosie left for Hogwarts. She had asked them what life would be like with children gone away. They told her that once they go, at age eleven, you never really get them back. Not in the same way. Each year they come back, having sprouted like weeds with a fist-full of new knowledge in their heads. They develop all of these new quirks without you, become someone new with each passing year. Hermione had noted that they did this anyway but realized what her parents meant. Rose had come home at age 12 a transformed young girl, still shy and sweet but her steps were more sure, and her eyes sparkled with a year lived without her mother watching. Hermione in turn felt she aged 5 years for every 1 that Rosie lived. Now, both of her babies gone, growing and learning without her. It all felt so very big and Hermione was so ill-equipped. This house on the sea now felt empty, too quiet. Especially with Ron gone, back at the Burrow for now, but soon, he'd be in a new flat close to Diagon Alley. The world was turning and leaving her behind. 

  
She spent her days in her books, the usual safe space. Taking the epiphany that Draco had shown her and applying that information to her research. It was difficult to remain objective as she took down notes and tried to describe it without injecting her own emotional bias. She kept trying to convince herself that her work WAS deeply personal and that adding those touches was ok. In the end, she kept it as professional as possible given the romantic circumstances. It had only been a few days since she had seen Draco last, but she missed him terribly. His fierceness toward her was intoxicating. Hermione could drown in his adoration for her; both in its intensity and its unexpectedness. She really couldn't put into words what she felt for Draco, mostly because she wasn't sure it was entirely to do with Draco himself. She felt like she had been lost in the desert for her entire life, and Draco was the oasis that finally brought that long-awaited drink of water. Her mind started to clear from the monotony of the life that she built. Hermione started for the first time to really see what Ron had meant for her when he left. The light came back to her eyes, her once needle-sharp mind came whirring back to life in a way that she hadn't experienced in 20 years. She had almost forgotten what it was like to start to sort out difficult problems. 

  
Ron. Shit. She needed to have a conversation with Ron. Harry and Ginny as well, they all deserved to know what's going on. On the fifth day since last seeing Draco, she finally decided to call Ron over for a conversation. Sending her small barn out with a note to Ron, she spent the rest of the day impatiently waiting for 6 pm, when she would admit to her ex-husband, that she was sleeping with another man, and the papers were right, and that man was former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. She dreaded nothing more. She had helped take down the most prolific dark Wizard in modern history, surely she could handle a disgruntled ex-husband. She wanted the day to be productive, but couldn't sit still, the anticipation of the tirade was drowning her with anxiety. Hermione decided that now is as good as time as any to tell Harry and Ginny, officially anyway. Harry has always been a hairless daft that Ron, but Ginny was sharp as a tack and wouldn't have missed a bit of the tiny details that told the story.   
Hermione rang Harry at around four in the afternoon, not able to stand the anticipation a second longer. Harry answered in his usual fashion, "Hello? Hermione?" Hermione let out a long breath, thankful to hear her best friend's voice on the other end of the line. "Harry, I have to talk to you officially about somethings.", Hermione's voice nearly broke, but she cleared her throat and was able to continue. "I know you know about the Holiday Gala and Draco picking my sorry bum off of the floor, and I know that you have been monitoring Pansy and all of that. So I know, that you know about New Years' and how she attacked me, and I sort of lost my cool." Hermione paused and waited for Harry to answer. Finally, he did. "Hermione Granger, if this is your long-winded, round-about way of telling me your shagging Malfoy, I already know." Harry's voice was clipped but there was an undertone of patience that kept her at ease. "Well, yes, I suppose it is. What do you think of that then?", Hermione's voice was shaking at this point. Harry had grown up so much, but she knew that deep-seated rivalries didn't give in so easily. Finally, he responded, "Hermione, you can shag whoever you want. Malfoy hasn't posed a threat in decades, he's not even really on the Ministries radar." He pauses here briefly, "Is this really want you want to be doing with your new freedom?" Hermione was taken slightly aback by this statement. It sounded as if he thought she was throwing everything away. It was her turn for a terse reply. She launched into a full description of the last several encounters over the last several weeks, leaving out the explicit bits the best she could. She concluded her speech with what Draco had told her in bed that last morning. Hermione told Harry that she believed Draco, that his circumstances had left a naturally sensitive boy to learn cruelty, and how hard Draco fought to counterbalance these behaviors. Hermione told Harry about the greenhouse, and the impact it would have on her research, and the impact it had on her heart. She stopped talking suddenly, realizing she had told the whole story and was breathless after. 

  
To his immense credit, Harry listened with rapt attention, finally, when he spoke he said, "Hermione Granger, you are the brightness witch I will ever know; and you still chose wrong the first time. I couldn't bear it if you repeated your past and chose a man because he was available. Choose or don't, but make sure that you're using your head and your heart, and no obligation, or loneliness to chose for you. As for Draco, I don't know the man anymore. Hermione, we're all so different." Harry paused and sighed hard. "Only you can make your life everything you deserve." With that, Harry hung up the phone. Hermione was a little shocked that he left no room for her rebuttal. There it was. One best friend down, and it didn't make her feel any better about telling Ron... Better to get it over with. It needed to be from her and not some tabloid "journalist" to go banging on the door at the Burrow. Hermione tossed on her coat and apparated.  
Hermione opened the door at the Weasley home, and was met with the usual crowd, Molly was trying to wrestle the cat out yet another jumper, Arthur was sitting in an armchair, deeply engrossed in the manual for a muggle device, a portable CD player. Hermione was tempted to tell him that muggles haven't used those for years, but didn't want to risk having to explain an iPod. Molly greeted Hermione with a puzzled look at first and then a warm hug. "Hermione dear! What a lovely surprise. What's the occasion?" Hermione felt awkward for the first time at The Burrow, "Oh nothing serious, I just needed to talk to Ron, parent stuff, you know." Molly smiled at her, "Of course, dear, he's just upstairs, I'll put the tea on." She patted Hermione's shoulder as she turned to the kettle. Hermione felt something foreign in the pit of her stomach. This was a place she was always comfortable before, always welcome. Now it felt like an intrusion just being here. Would she forever be on the outside looking in? She guessed this conversation with Ron might be the determining factor.   
Hermione ascended the stairs, tossing her coat over the railing, hoping that this wouldn't take long. Hermione lifted her closed fist to knock on his bedroom door, a bedroom that they shared in the first year of their marriage, but before she could make contact, the door swung open. Ron came crashing through the door and bowled Hermione right over, landing square on top of her with a large thud. They both yelled in surprise and pain before Ron crawled off of her and helped her to her feet. "Blimey Hermione! What in Merlin's name are you doing here, skulking around?" Hermione's temper rose, "Skulking! Your mother told me you were up here." She sighed and tried to calm herself, "Ron, can we talk? I have something I need to say." Ron looked at her concerned, "Is is Rosie? Hugo? Is everything ok?" The panic started to rise in his voice and his face turned red. Hermione sighed, "No Ronald, the children are just fine, please, can we go back to your room? This is a private conversation." Ron rolled his eyes slightly at her, which was fairly normal, when Hermione was nervous she got oddly formal about things. He spread his arm in front of himself in a grandiose sweeping gesture, he had clearly been spending a fair amount of time with George, picking up on his attitude.   
Hermione entered despite Ron's sarcastic show, and when Ron entered behind her he shut the door. Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a couple of privacy charms. Molly Weasley was a wonderful woman but could be a bit of gossip and nosey to boot. Ron's face was becoming even more perplexed by the second. "Alright Hermione, you're being really dodgy, what's going on?", Ron's tone was slightly impatient. Hermione sat for a second looking at her ex-husband. She loved Ron with all of her heart, and she felt like she was about to break his. Over 30 years of friendship, almost losing each other, and Harry, on more than one occasion. They had survived a literal war, on the front lines. How had things happened this way?

  
Hermione looked at him and took a deep breath, "Ron, there's no easy way to do this, so I'll just come out with it. I'm sort of seeing someone." Ron's mouth fell open, "Well damn Hermione, that was fast. I mean, I guess that was the idea right? Hell, I thought it would at least take a while, you don't socialize that much, I figured...I don't know, that you wouldn't for a long time." Hermione started to feel indignant with his little rant here but realized he was thinking out loud and he's entitled to at least that. Hermione responded when she sensed a break in his speech, "Ron, I didn't see it coming either, it started professionally in nature, and then it wasn't-". Ron cut her off mid-sentence, "Oh Hermione it's not that doctor you work with, is it? Hermione, he's ANCIENT!" This time Hermione cut him off, "Ron Weasley shut up and let me tell you about it!" Hermione felt bad for raising her voice and was glad she had warded the room. "Ron, it's not Dr. Singh, but this person started in his office. As a patient." Ron's eyebrows shot up at that, he opened his mouth to say something but then shut it when Hermione gave him a pointed look. Hermione continued, "It was a shock to even see this person after so many years, Ron, you read what happened to me at the Holiday Gala? The night I had a fit and Malfoy escorted me from the room? Well....", Hermione let the sentence dangle and hoped Ron would catch on so she didn't have to say it so explicitly. Ron's face started with a slightly puzzled expression, then slowly the confusion slid off of his face as the reality of what she was saying dawned on him, "Hermione, no." His face got redder and redder as his anger rose, "Hermione NO! You aren't telling me that your fucking DRACO FUCKING MALFOY! FORMER DEATH EATER MALFOY! Oh no, no, no, now you're taking the piss! You're trying to get back at me for leaving you! For fuck's SAKE Hermione how stupid are you?", with that Hermione stood up, her own anger rising, "Now you look here Ronald Weasley, don't you dare start hurling insults. How DARE you accuse me of a revenge fuck!" Hermione was planning on continuing with her story and explaining the whole thing but Ron was too angry, he stormed from the room, nearly ripping the door from the hinges...She heard a loud crack and knew Ron had dissapparated...

  
Hermione hung her head, maybe Ron went to see Harry, at least then he could talk Ron down a little bit. Honestly, she didn't expect that the news would sit any differently with Ron at first. Feeling suddenly very weary, Hermione took down the wards on the room and magically repaired the door before descending the stairs to get her coat. Molly and Arthur were standing in the kitchen, shock, and expectation on their faces. "I just can't right now, I'll talk to you guys later.", Hermione looked at her former in-laws through a sea of tears and then dissapparated back to her home by the sea.


End file.
